


you strike a match that lights my heart on fire (my love's an iron ball)

by ang3lba3



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Castiel, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Castiel, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Pack, Pack Dynamics, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Build, Supernatural Crossover, Werewolf Dean Winchester, Werewolf Sam Winchester, original character deaths, teen wolf crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3672792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And the bites are just fucking gone,” Dean said, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “I swear to God, I can hear Sammy’s heartbeat.”</p><p>“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam said, but half heartedly. His blinder was down and his shirt off so that he could stare at the unmarked skin of his shoulder.</p><p>-</p><p>In which Dean and Sam are werewolves, the pack is all alive, Erica is Stiles' best friend, and mates are a thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. who let the dogs out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crossroadswrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/gifts).



> I wanna thank my heart, crossroadswrite. I know we said we'd stop gifting everything to each other, but I couldn't have done this without you. Sharing it with you kept me going, and you offered invaluable advice throughout the entire process. Thank you, favorite. //smooches and twirls in a circle//
> 
> The title is from the two songs that I think represent this fic, [I do Adore by Mindy Gledhill](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eP5cJfVScGw&index=39&list=PL2hcoebvkQblScAk8JzaJ3grQ2UijWYs_) and [Heavy in Your Arms by Florence + the Machine.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SK6U4FiAoAs)
> 
> This fic is written in its entirety, so don't worry about long update waits or it getting abandoned. ;) I hope you enjoy!
> 
> on tumblr at [this gorgeous blog ;)](ang3lba3.tumblr.com)

“And the bites are just fucking _gone,_ ” Dean said, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “I swear to God, I can hear Sammy’s heartbeat.”

“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam said, but half heartedly. His blinder was down and his shirt off so that he could stare at the unmarked skin of his shoulder.

 

“What did this thing that bit you look like?” Bobby asked, sounding remarkably calm.

 

Dean loved the man like a father, but he think this warranted a little bit of freaking out. An emotional reaction of literally _any kind._

 

“Like the goddamn wolfman,” Dean replied. “Thing was fucking huge. Came out of fucking nowhere and bit us - thought it was gonna rip us apart but it just howled and ran away, maybe it saw a squirrel, I don’t fucking _know._ ”

 

“Son of a bitch,” Bobby muttered. “Let me make some calls. Where are you boys?”

 

“In Oregon and heading your way. We should only be about two, three hours.”

 

“Good,” Bobby said, sounding slightly relieved. “That will give me time to get a hold of some people.”

 

Dean nodded before remembering Bobby couldn’t see him. Sam snatched the phone and spoke into it before anyone could hang up.

 

“Bobby, we’re gonna be okay, right? There’s a cure or something?” he asked.

 

“You’re gonna be just fine,” Bobby said, voice softening. “You’ll get to go home to that little lady of yours and get your fancy lawyering degree.”

 

“Okay,” Sam said, and Dean glanced over at him. He looked scared, terrified in a way that Dean ached to fix. “Okay.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

“No,” Stiles said firmly, glaring at the miniskirt and garter stockings.

 

Whether or not he wanted to wear them was not relevant to this conversation. What was relevant was that this was a goddamn pack meeting, and all of his friends were there, and _no._

 

“Yes,” Lydia said, raising an eyebrow.

 

Stiles deflated, snatching the clothes out of her hands. He may not be in love with her anymore but the platonic love thing they had going on had just ended up increasing his terror of disobeying her.

 

“Fine. But I want it noted that I’m doing this under protest.”

 

“Noted,” Allison said from where her and Erica were putting the finishing touches on Isaac’s hair and makeup. The lucky bastard had gotten a sundress. They were definitely going the wholesome route with him, leaving Stiles to be their slutty barbie doll. He was already wearing a fishnet tank top, did they want to take away all of his dignity by forcing him to bare his all skinny, pasty, mole covered limbs in public?

 

Stiles changed quickly, forcing himself not to look around. Derek was training Jackson and Boyd, so the odds of him looking over were pretty low - but he had been stealing others to work with so Stiles could only pray that it wasn’t him next. Charlie and Danny were busy seeing who could break into each other’s laptop the fastest while Scott played referee so he didn’t have to worry about them. Although when Stiles glanced at Peter, who was loitering by the snacks, he was leering in the creepiest manner possible. Because of course he was.

 

He slipped his feet into the heels - and God only knew where Lydia had found those in his size - at the same time Jo burst into the house.

 

She was panting, hair messy and sticking out where it wasn’t plastered to her face by sweat. It looked like she’d run the two miles from the Roadhouse through the preserve to the pack house.

 

“Hunters are coming here,” she gasped out, and immediately had everyone’s attention.

 

“Why didn’t I hear about this?” Allison said, and suddenly she looked nothing like a teenage girl giggling as she played dress up. She looked everything like the head of the Argents.

 

“They don’t follow a code, they don’t even _know_ about codes,” Jo said. “They were raised into it. They come from Campbell on their Mom’s side-”

 

The Campbells followed a code. _Guilty until proven innocent._ Victoria, Allison’s mom, was sister to the patriarch of the family: Samuel Campbell.

 

It showed when she tried to murder Scott and then committed assisted suicide because Derek had bit her.

 

“- I mean, she dropped out of hunting, but when those witches hired demons to burn the head Campbells to the ground, they took out Mary too. And then their Dad became a hunter and basically they’re mass murderers of the supernatural. Bobby sets them on cases to only kill guilty things but it’s not… they don’t exactly wait for conclusive evidence, if you know what I mean.”

 

The pack stared at her in horror as understanding began to set in.

 

“Why are they coming here?” Stiles asked.

 

“To visit Bobby. I think something happened to them but no one will tell me-”

 

Jo’s phone rang, Boss Ass Bitch playing loudly. It was her ringtone for her mother.

 

“Hiiiii Mom,” she said, grimacing a little.

 

“Where are you?!” Ellen yelled. Jo winced and held the phone away from her ear. She would have put it on speaker, but her mom was loud enough that she didn’t need to. “If you’re with the pack right now…”

 

Jo looked like she’d considered lying for a moment before deciding that would be insane. “Yes, I mean, I had to _warn_ them-”

 

“Get your ass back home _now_ , young lady. You know Bobby will handle them, he’s done it before and he can do it again. And if you skip out during the lunch rush again, I will ground you from the pack.”

 

“Mom!” Jo squawked indignantly.

 

“Don’t test me,” Ellen growled. Everyone in the room winced a little. Ellen was fucking scary, and Jo was just tempting fate the longer she stayed in the room.

 

“Okay, I’m headed home right now, alright?” Jo said.

 

“Good,” Ellen said before hanging up.

 

Jo sighed and shoved her phone back in her pocket. “Can I borrow a shirt that doesn’t stink and bum a ride?”

 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Allison said, still looking extremely worried even as she tossed a graphic tee at Jo. Jo caught it and stripped out of her nasty shirt immediately.

 

Nudity was sort of old news in the pack, but some of the boys still averted their eyes politely.

 

“Look up Dean and John Winchester’s criminal records,” Jo said, chewing on her thumb nervously. "John's their dad, and he's dead, but he worked really closely with Dean. Sam's mostly clean, Dean takes the bad rap."

 

“No problem,” Charlie said, cracking her fingers as she winked at Jo.

 

Her crush on Jo was about as subtle as an elephant trying to tap dance, and no one was quite sure if it was returned or not.

 

“I’ll drive you home,” Derek said.

 

Stiles squinted at him suspiciously, but allowed it. Derek probably wouldn’t go see Bobby alone, not when Jo would just report back on him immediately.

 

Derek and Jo left the room and several tense minutes went by - during which Jackson noticed Stiles’ outfit and started teasing him mercilessly, and Lydia started detailing how she had bought her and Jackson matching lingerie for their anniversary so really he couldn’t talk - before Charlie spoke.

 

“Uh, guys,” she said in a strangled voice.


	2. you can't choose what stays and what fades away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby huffed impatiently and gestured for the Dean and Sam to take a seat. 
> 
> “Boys, sit your asses down, Dean, stop growling. I’m gonna tell you a thing, and you ain’t gonna like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for OC prostitution.
> 
> chapter title from [No Light No Light by Florence + the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATfUdaZQLMA).

The house was elegant and large, sprawling across the clearing in a way that just begged to have people in it. Castiel was used to seeing it covered in children, but he supposed that by now most of those children had outgrown the need to be constantly outside. It wasn’t quite the same without those small tanned bodies giggling and shrieking as they played, but it still had the calm aura of welcome he remembered as a teen.

 

He didn’t want to think about why he was truly here, just wanted to see Aunt Rebecca. He hadn’t seen her for a little over 8 years, a meeting carefully supervised by Michael to make sure he wasn’t ‘infected’ by her ‘deviant and sinful’ lifestyle. Castiel would have seen her sooner if he could, but work and school and… _life_ had kept them apart.

 

Castiel prepared himself to knock, noticing that the flowers on the windowsills had been painted over and replaced with small wolf prints. He smiled, remembering Olivia and Maria painting them on together as they whispered and laughed together in the late summer afternoon light. Jimmy and himself were spread out in a lazy pile of limbs with Elda and Silas, exhausted from running through the Preserve.

 

The memory hurt, and his breath was knocked out of him with the force of how very much he missed his twin. The fire that took Jimmy, Claire and Amelia should have taken him too - it was only luck that he had been working late.

 

Luck that he didn’t particularly want, hadn’t wanted when he found his home burning down with his family inside and luck he didn’t want now, ready to meet with Aunt Rebecca and some of the only family he wasn’t estranged from. He had nowhere else to go, and nowhere else he particularly wanted to go.

 

Castiel wanted the safety and belonging that came from being with the Hales.

 

He knocked once before the door swung open to a blond girl. She didn’t look like Alyssa, though she was around the right age. She certainly wasn’t dressed in anything Peter or Olivia would ever allow their daughter to wear.

 

She squinted at him for a long moment, in which he was a bit scared to speak. She must have been a Hale, considering he’d only ever felt this frozen and examined when Peter caught him doing something wrong.

 

“I have not accepted Jesus as my Lord and savior and have no desire to,” she finally said before swinging the door shut.

 

“What?” Castiel said to the wood of the front door, confused.

 

“Who was it?” he heard a male voice say.

 

“Just a Jehovah’s Witness. God knows what one is doing all the way out here,” the girl replied.

 

Oh, so it was just a simple misunderstanding. He knocked again.

 

“Is Rebecca there?” he called. “Or Maria? They’re my aunts, I need to speak with them.”

 

The door was jerked open, and he was met with the face of someone who was unmistakably Derek. Castiel nodded to him. They had been around the same age when he was little, though Derek was always more inclined to read in the porch swing than run around and play with the other children.

 

“It’s good to see you, Derek. Are Rebecca or Maria here?”

 

Derek shook his head mutely, and he looked rather ill.

 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked. “If they’re not here I can come back later-”

 

“Come in,” Derek said, voice harsh as he stepped back to make room.

 

Castiel went inside, unperturbed by Derek’s rough voice. He had always been like that as a little one as well, things coming out sounding like he was angry or in pain when he was perfectly happy and healthy.

 

“Why do you want to see them?” Derek asked. He sounded like someone was strangling him. Perhaps he was coming down with a sore throat?

 

Cas swallowed, hands flexing helplessly before he stilled them. He’d known he would have to speak about it but… it _hurt._

 

“Jimmy and his family, Amelia, Claire, they… there was a fire.” Castiel’s throat felt like it was closing up. He wasn’t crying, he hadn’t cried yet, but it was becoming harder and harder to talk. “Arson. Talia, she said we were always welcome, and. I have nowhere else to go.”

 

Derek’s face smoothed out. He hadn’t calmed, it was just _blank._ Like he was feeling too much and his face didn’t know which expression to take so it settled on nothing.

 

“Lydia, Stiles?” Derek called.

 

A tall, thin boy and a short majestic redheaded girl entered the room almost immediately.

 

“Why’d you let the Jehovah’s Witness in?” the boy groaned.

 

“Talk to him. I have to go,” Derek said, and the boy’s expression changed abruptly when he looked at Derek’s face.

 

“Of course, Alpha. Go,” the girl said.

 

Castiel frowned. The Hales called _Talia_ Alpha. Had something happened to her?

 

Derek bolted out of the room, through the front door, so quickly that Castiel could barely track him with his eyes.

 

“I’m Castiel,” Castiel said, because if nothing else he still had his manners.

 

“Stiles, and this is Lydia,” the boy - apparently Stiles - said.

 

“Why are you here?” Lydia asked.

 

“To see my Aunt Rebecca,” Castiel said. “Is she not here?”

 

Stiles’ and Lydia’s faces filled with an emotion that Castiel couldn’t quite recognize.

 

“Oh,” Stiles said softly. “No. No, she’s not here.”

 

“Why don’t we go sit down in the kitchen?” Lydia offered.

 

They did, but Stiles was twitching nervously, bouncing his leg and fiddling with his hands as they sat at the table in silence. “Anyone want something to drink? Soda, coffee, tea, hot chocolate?”

 

“Tea, you know what I like,” Lydia said, staring at her clasped hands.

 

“Righty-o. Castiel?” Stiles asked, jumping to his feet.

 

“Hot chocolate,” Castiel said thankfully.

 

The wait for their drinks was fairly short - Stiles made the hot cocoa using a Keurig, and the tea for Lydia was in the fridge already, all he had to do was transfer it to a glass.

 

“Here we are,” Stiles said, handing them their drinks before he returned to the fridge to grab a can of lemonade mountain dew for himself.

 

Cas said a quick thank you, taking a sip. It was just the right amount of hot, the chocolate taste thick in his mouth and clinging to his tongue.

 

“So why do you need to see Rebecca?” Lydia asked.

 

“My twin, Jimmy.”

 

There, that was a start.

 

They seemed to understand that he wasn’t done, just was having difficulty talking, and let him gather his thoughts and force them out his mouth hole.

 

“I lived with my twin, his wife, and their daughter.” he took a deep breath. Saying this would never get easier. The grief counselor and internet and all those Chicken Soup for the Soul books were filthy liars. “I work- worked - at a library. I was late getting home, we’d just remodeled and we were still reshelving. It was arson, and by the time I got there…”

 

Lydia looks slightly uncomfortable and she nods softly before saying, “I’m gonna leave this one to you Stiles.” and leaving.

 

“Why did she go?” Castiel asked.

 

Stiles sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “She just doesn’t know what to say to keep from making it worse. I lost my mom when I was 8, I guess she thinks I’ll be better at this. Don’t know why.”

 

“There’s nothing you can say to make it better. I don’t understand why people keep trying to do that.”

 

They shared a quiet look of understanding. Well, Castiel gave a quiet look of understanding. Stiles tried to before overbalancing and falling out of his chair.

 

“So my Aunt-”

 

Stiles groaned and slithered back into his chair from the floor. “There is literally no way to soften this blow, you want me to just give it to you hard?”

 

Castiel nodded. “Yes, give it to me hard.”  
  
This seriously wasn’t the appropriate time for laughter, so Stiles shoved down a snicker. However, he could have sworn he heard _someone_ cackle in the distance. Probably Erica. Erica knew what was appropriate, contrary to popular belief - it was just that she didn’t give a fuck.

 

“The Hales, excluding Derek and Peter, are all dead,” Stiles said bluntly. “They were killed by a woman named Kate Argent, a mass murderer and an arsonist. She’s dead now.”

 

There’s a vicious enjoyment in his voice as he says that, and Castiel is a bit worried. The kid can’t be more than 18 and he’s talking about the death of a woman with nothing but a dark satisfaction in his eyes.

 

It’s easier to focus on that than on memories of Peter calling Olivia his anchor, Alyssa his sun and Alois his moon. It’s so much easier than thinking about Maria pressing kisses to Rebecca’s pregnant belly, eyes shining with happiness at the thought of their third child. Of Laura teasing Derek mercilessly, but always choosing to stay with her twin instead of going outside to play with everyone else.

 

“Castiel?” a familiar, disbelieving voice asked from behind him.

 

“Uncle Peter?” Castiel said, turning around.

 

Peter looked - not well. He looked fine physically, but the playful light in his eyes had twisted into something cruel and malicious. He made a harsh noise in the back of his throat.

 

“You smell like them.” he said.

 

Castiel’s forehead frowned in confusion. Peter was all the way across the room, but taking tentative steps closer.

 

“Like Rebecca and Silas and Elda.”

 

Peter crossed the distance between them with less and less hesitant steps, before he was close enough to bury his face in Castiel’s neck and just breathe.

 

Castiel kept still. Peter had been the sperm donor for Silas and Elda as well as – although Castiel didn’t know this -Rebecca and Maria’s unborn child. If sniffing Castiel made him feel closer to his dead sister-in-law and children, then Castiel would happily let him sniff.

 

                                                                        -_-

 

Derek knocked on Bobby’s door, barely pulling in his strength so that he didn’t slam straight through the wood. He didn’t - he couldn’t deal with this. With Castiel. Having Peter hate him was one thing, but Castiel was… They’d been friends. Good friends. When Castiel started getting into mythology and magical history, Derek helped him - and carefully sabotaged any spells Castiel tried until Castiel stopped trying, of course. His mom had told him that Castiel was a spark, but would be safer if he didn’t know it. Bobby was a safe place that he tried not to use too often, but he was blanking out on any reason as to why he should bother avoiding a place that had drugs laced with the good kind of wolfsbane, the kind that would get him high and not dead.

 

Bobby opened the door and Derek - very gently and politely - shoved past him and started some coffee.

 

“Kid,” Bobby said, placing a hand on his shoulder and attempting to steer him back towards the door. “You need to get out of here right now.”

 

Derek opened his mouth to reply, with what he didn’t know, but then the scent of two unfamiliar werewolves hit him - an Alpha and a beta.

 

“Hey, Bobby, we’re here!” A voice called. “Why the hell’s your door open?”

 

“Shit,” Bobby muttered.

 

Then the werewolves were in the room. The beta was tall and broad in the shoulders but not physically imposing. He had a friendly air about him, a giant puppy feel that was helped along by his shaggy hair and the way he was instinctively submissive towards Derek.

 

The Alpha was set immediately on guard by both his beta’s submission to a foreign Alpha, and having another Alpha in the room at all. Both of them _stunk_ of anxiety.

 

Derek shouldn’t be here, they were both obviously unstable. He remembered abruptly that two recently turned hunters were supposed to be visiting Bobby, and he could have slapped himself for being so stupid.

 

He started to edge towards the back door, careful not to make eye contact. New wolves would take it as a challenge, whether they knew they were wolves or not.

 

The Alpha started growling and bristling the further away that Derek got. Of course, the Alpha didn’t want a threat where he couldn’t see it. Derek fixed his eyes on the kitchen table and took a seat.

 

Bobby huffed impatiently and gestured for the Alpha and beta to take a seat.

 

“Boys, sit your asses down, Dean, stop growling. I’m gonna tell you a thing, and you ain’t gonna like it.”

 

                                                                        -_-

 

Jason snored into the soft cloth of his hoodie. It was warm out today, warm enough that he’d shed several layers to form a half decent pillow. He’d been a lot of places since his parents kicked him out, but Beacon Hills was quickly becoming his favorite. The sheriff was fair and lenient. If a deputy saw you napping in the park after hours they were more likely to give you a blanket and a granola bar than they were to kick you out.

 

A foot nudged his side and he jerked upright before he was even awake, grasping his backpack of possessions closer. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been mugged, even though in daylight within sight of the playground seemed an unlikely place for it to happen again.

 

The man was well dressed, obviously not a mugger. Jason’s grip on his backpack loosened a little.

 

“100 dollars to take you back to a more… private location,” the man said, flashing a smile.

 

Jason bristled. “I’m not a whore-”

 

“200.”

 

Jason squinted at the man. He couldn’t be serious. That was far too much money. Jason gave the man an assessing look. English, handsome in a DILF kind of way, and staring at him through a pair of sunglasses with a wolfish grin. He looked like the kind of guy who wiped his ass with hundred dollar bills and then tipped the wait staff with them.

 

He definitely didn’t look like the kind of guy who he should go off to a secluded location with for any reason but - but fuck it, Jason was hungry and couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real bed to sleep in.

 

“250 and your name,” he settled on, pulling himself up and stuff the clothes he’d been using for a pillow into his bag.

 

“300,” the man said firmly.

 

That was a good sign. If the man didn’t want him to have his name, that meant he was planning to let Jason go.

 

“Okay,” Jason said, trying to pretend his heart wasn’t thundering in his chest.

 

The man smirked at him, slow and feral.

 

                                                                        -_-

 

The motel was one of the sleaziest, but familiar to Jason (it was also one of the cheapest). The man sent him in to get the key, and the girl working the desk barely glanced up from her penny dreadful when he signed in using the name Han Solo, popping her earbud back in the second the key touched his hand.

 

He walked back to the room, not dragging his feet but not exactly sprinting either. Jason half wanted to stop, to just run, but now his backpack was locked in the guy’s car and there was 300 dollars waiting for him if he just stuck it out.

 

Jason opened the door for the man, vibrating a little out of nerves. It wouldn’t be the first time he had sex with a man, but it was his first time doing it with anyone for money. It probably would have been better to start with say, a handjob in that alley by the strip club, and not in a motel staffed by uncaring people listening to screamo with a man who didn’t want him to know even his _name._

 

It was too late to worry about it now, and Jason swallowed as the man stripped out of his leather jacket and tossed it onto the bed. Jason could feel his heart pounding in his fingertips, and something about the way the man looked at him made him brutally aware of how very defenseless he was.

 

Jason figured he must have blacked out a little, because between one blink and the next the man was right in front of his face.

 

This had to be how those people who paid to be put in underwater cages next to some sharks felt. He’d gone too far to give up, was damned if he wasn’t going to get his money(‘s worth), and if he could relive the past ten minutes he never would have gotten into the car (cage) to begin with.

 

The man forcibly turned Jason to face the wall, pushing him forward until Jason had a cheek pressed up against the cold plaster and the man had a leg between his spread ones. Jason closed his eyes and took deep, even breaths when he realized that the man was already hard.

 

This was probably the worst time possible to say something, but Jason had never been good at controlling his mouth in a crisis. If you needed proof, you only had to look to how he sucked the youth pastor off during the guy’s crisis of faith (which was, incidentally, part of why his parents kicked him out).

 

“So if I don’t know your name, what am I going to scream?” he asked, a bit breathless from the way the man’s weight was pinning him against the wall so hard he could barely breathe.

 

“Oh,” the man said, British accent going from the villainous levels of Mrs. Hudson to Umbridge. “You won’t be screaming.”

 

The man’s hand - smelling of something that Jason really did not want to call blood but that was most definitely blood - clamped over Jason’s mouth, and he dragged in frantic breaths through his nose. This only worsened the winning odds of the whole let’s-pretend-it-isn’t-blood game he was playing with himself.

 

He didn’t have to play for long, distracted by a rumbling noise - _please be purring please be purring_ \- that vibrated into his skin where the man was touching him.

 

There was a snarl and a flash of red in his peripheral vision, then the man bit the back of his neck so hard Jason could taste blood. Except - no, he was just screaming, but his mouth was open and he was tasting the man’s hand.

 

Jason had the sinking feeling that the next time he saw one of the sheriff’s nice deputies, it’d be from the inside of a chalk outline.

 


	3. welcome to the new age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: recreational drug use, canon typical violence.
> 
> chapter title from [Radioactive by Imagine Dragons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktvTqknDobU)

Dean’s fingers stroked and tapped nervously against the coffee mug. Bobby was obviously procrastinating telling them whatever he was going to say, which meant that it _had_ to be bad. Bobby was a rip the bandaid off kind of guy. The last time he eased them into news like this, John had been killed taking out the coven of witches that murdered Mary. The guy who made the coffee, Derek, was scowling on the other side of the table. There was something about him that made Dean wanna barricade himself, Sam and Bobby in the panic room.

 

Bobby finally settled into the chair across from them on the table. Sam didn’t seem to be grasping how monumentally bad this thing must be, or how dangerous Derek was, because he was on his phone texting. Probably with Jess or one of his school friends.

 

Bobby cleared his throat and looked at Sam until Sam turned his phone off and stuck it in his pocket.

 

“Like I said, I’m gonna tell you boys something, and you ain’t gonna like it, but you need to hear it.” Bobby said.

 

Dean winced. No pleasant conversation could start off that way.

 

“Not all monsters are monsters.”

 

Dean squinted at Bobby. “Come again?”

 

“I only send you after the monsters that kill people. There are more non-human species that don’t kill people than the ones that do,” Bobby said.

 

Dean snorted. “Yeah, right.”

 

Sam was nodding eagerly, practically vibrating out of his seat. “I knew it!”

 

“No, Sam, you couldn’t have known it,” Dean said reasonably. “Because Bobby’s fucking with us.”

 

Derek seemed to be suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at both of them.

 

Bobby raised an eyebrow and stared Dean down. “I only send you after the monsters that kill people-”

 

“All monsters kill people,” Dean said.

 

“Don’t interrupt me,” Bobby said, glaring at Dean as he proceeded to repeat himself. “And no, they don’t. There are more nonhuman species that don’t ever hurt us than ones that do.”

 

“Knew _it!”_ Sam practically crowed. Dean made a noise deep in his chest that was nothing if not a growl, and Sam immediately bared his neck a little. Derek actually _did_ roll his eyes this time.

 

It didn’t occur to Dean that this wasn’t normal behavior for him or his brother, but it really should have.

 

“John didn’t believe that. If it wasn’t human, he’d shoot it.”

 

“Well, _yeah,”_ Dean said, taking a sip of his coffee.

 

Bobby raised an eyebrow and stared at him until Dean started to feel vaguely apologetic for interrupting him. Derek snorted.

 

“I only send you boys after the monsters that kill people, that are getting out of hand.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, but Sam was eating it up with a friggin’ spoon.

 

“Now, I send you after the species of werewolves that kill humans. They can’t help it; they originate from a curse a couple thousand years ago. The natural werewolves are a whole different story. They don’t need to eat hearts or kill; they’re basically people that can turn furry. Like the shapeshifters in that Honest Blood show. Werewolves like that mostly aren’t made, they’re born.” Bobby paused.

 

Sam got it, and whispered a quiet _fuck_ under his breath.

 

“What?” Dean asked, looking between Sam’s and Bobby’s serious faces. Derek managed to make his frown look like he was hiding snickering.

 

“The Alphas are the only ones who can change people, and they’re also the only ones that can do the big hulking wolfman transformation.” Bobby paused again, looking at them significantly.

 

Dean didn’t understand what all these friggin’ pauses were for.

 

“So?” Dean asked.

 

“Son, you were bit by an Alpha.”

 

Dean snorted. “Very funny.”

 

“You could hear Sam’s heartbeat in the car,” Bobby said, leaning forward.

 

“Just my imagination,” Dean dismissed, voice wavering slightly.

 

“But that doesn’t explain why you can hear our heartbeats now.”

 

“Or why the Impala’s engine was giving you a headache,” Sam said, more gently than Bobby had spoken. “Or how you knew that I was texting Jess because, and I quote, ‘goddamnit Sam I can barely breathe through the stench of your lovey-dovey-ness, crack a friggin’ window’.”

 

“Figure of speech,” Dean scoffed.

 

“Barring the fact that that isn’t a figure of speech, you sent your steak back and got a super rare one. You hate rare meat. You’ve said it’s an affront to the culinary world.”

 

“I’m not a werewolf, Sammy.”

 

“Dean, I know this is hard for you but-” Sam started.

 

“I’m not a goddamn werewolf!” Dean roared, teeth growing sharp and eyes glowing red.

 

“Dean,” Sam said.

 

Dean blinked, staring down at where his claws had dug into the wood of the table.

 

“Fuck,” he spat out.

 

There was an awkward silence where Dean stared at his hands in horror and Derek looked even more pained than usual. Finally Derek spoke.

 

“Bobby, you still got that wolfsbane weed?”

 

                                                                        -_-

 

Jason took in a breath that choked in his lungs and came back out a sob.

 

He had always hated the dark, as a kid, was always scared of what was hiding in it, saw things in shadows with teeth and glowing eyes. His parents had tried to convince him that there were no such things as monsters, at least not in his room. Jason knew better - church had taught him that demons were everywhere, in everyone, and always waiting to catch those unworthy of God’s protection.

 

Jason couldn’t remember the last time he’d been told he was worthy of God’s protection.

 

“Hey, hey babydoll, it’s okay,” a soft voice said, and long skinny fingers wrapped soothingly around his hands.

 

It wasn’t okay. It was cold and dark, he was sitting on a cement floor in chains, and there was a freezing liquid dripping on his feet. His neck stung where the man had bitten him, and he couldn’t stop _shaking._

 

“I’m Sherri,” the soft voice said.

 

“Jason,” he croaked out.

 

“Sweetheart, is your bite healed over yet?” she continued, thumb stroking circles on his palm.

 

“What? No. Of course not,” Jason said.

 

“Good,” she breathed. “Mine is, so I don’t have much time.”

 

“What do you mean? How long have you _been_ here?” Jason asked. If the man had bitten her too then that - she must have been here at least a week, maybe more. He sobbed again. He couldn’t be here that long, he’d go insane.

 

“My clock says only about 15 hours,” Sherri’s voice trembled. “I - the girl who was here before, Lanie, she said he came when the bite was healed. He took her about half an hour after I got here.”

 

“But - your bite can’t be healed already,” Jason said.

 

“I know you don’t believe me now, but you will.” Sherri tugged his hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. Her lips were wet with tears. “If you - if you get out, I have a girlfriend. Her name is Holly, she works at that Starbucks on 15th. Tell her I’m sorry and that she was right and that I love her so much.

 

“God, he’s coming,” her voice broke. “I don’t want to _go.”_

 

“I’m sorry, I’ll tell her, I’m sorry,” Jason said, hugging her to him as best as he could while she was still holding one of his hands. He wanted to promise to protect her, to get her out, but - he couldn’t lie to her. Not now.

 

“He’s here,” she breathed. “Tell her, don’t forget, _tell her-”_

 

A door opened with a loud creak across the room and with it came a rush of light that hurt Jason’s eyes. He winced back and squinted to make out the figure in the doorway. It was the man, not that that was any surprise.

 

The man laughed. “I’d say tell her yourself, but you’ll be just missing her.”

 

The man stepped into the room, dragging a girl behind him by her arm effortlessly. Sherri gave a harsh gasp.

 

“Holly!” she yelled. “Holly, wake up, Holly!”

 

“I’m afraid she’ll be out for a while yet,” the man said.

 

The man put Holly in the chains to Jason’s right, and Jason cringed back into Sherri as he worked.

 

“But I am nothing if not a _generous_ Alpha, so how about we leave her a message, hmm?” the man said.

 

He pushed up Holly’s shirt, and Jason didn’t know how he didn’t notice it before but his fingernails were dark and sharp, almost claw like.

 

“No, no God, please don’t hurt her, please don’t!” Sherri sobbed.

 

The man ignored her, starting to write out Sherri’s message in the soft flesh of Holly’s stomach. Jason gagged as the smell of blood filled his nostrils, and Sherri screamed and fought against her chains.

 

When he was done, Holly was whimpering softly in her sleep and shifting side to side.

 

“Mine, mine, she’s _mine,_ don’t _touch_ her!” Sherri yelled, and her voice was starting to have a growling edge to it. Jason didn’t look over his shoulder at her; he was too focused on watching the man.

 

“Oh, that’s just precious.” the man laughed. “She’s your mate, isn’t she? Don’t worry, you’ll be together soon.”

 

_“Mine,”_ Sherri snarled.

 

“Yes, yes I know child,” the man said indulgently. His eyes must have caught the light weird, because they suddenly seemed to glow red. “Now, I’m going to let you out, and you’re going to follow me and do exactly as I say. Understood?”

 

Sherri made a distressed whining noise in the back of her throat, but when Jason glanced at her she was nodding.

 

“Good girl.” the man stepped over Jason to undo the locks on Sherri’s chains, helping her up politely and maintaining a grip on her forearm as he led her to the door. “Oh, and Jason?”

 

Jason swallowed, mouth and throat suddenly dry.

 

“I’ll see you soon.”

 

The door closed, and the room was black again.

 

-

 

“This is… some really good shit,” Dean said, taking another hit off the joint.

 

Derek snorted, plucking the joint easily out of Dean’s fingers to take a drag.

 

“So what are you?” Dean asked. “You a were- a _werewolf_ too?”

 

“Yes,” Derek said, flashing his eyes.

 

Sam bared his throat reflexively and Dean flashed his eyes back, growling and lunging forward. Sam caught him before Dean could try and rip Derek’s throat out. Derek didn’t look overly concerned about the attempted murder, not even flinching at the snapping Alpha six inches from his face. He just took another deep breath and then leaned forward to blow it into Dean’s mouth.

 

Dean coughed, breath catching on the smoke, and his eyes cleared of red, body relaxing.

 

“So,” Derek said. “How’d you take out the Alpha that turned you?”

 

Dean snorted, took a sip of his coffee. The first pot had ran out quite a while ago, they were on their third now, and even though werewolves metabolized it faster and the marijuana was calming them down as fast as they could hype up, they were all starting to get a bit twitchy from the caffeine intake.

 

“Didn’t.”

 

Derek blinked. He was sort of really fucking high, so maybe he’d just misheard.

 

“Come again?”

 

“Couldn’t find the damn thing.”

 

But that would mean-

 

Derek pointed at Dean, gaping silently as his body shook. He glanced at Bobby to make sure Bobby had just heard the same thing he did, but the older man just raised his eyebrows. Derek jabbed his finger in Dean’s direction a few more times.

 

“Is he having some sort of seizure?” Dean asked.

 

“I think he might be… laughing?” Sam said.

 

Derek was bent over at the waist, gasping as his body shook apart around him.

 

“He doesn’t laugh much anymore,” Bobby said, sighing. “Think he might have forgotten how.”

 

Derek just shook his head, grinning.

 

Dean was a fucking _true alpha._

 

-

 

“We need Derek,” Lydia hissed.

 

Stiles nodded, twitching nervously. They both glanced back into the kitchen, where Peter had been sniffing Castiel for about twenty five minutes now.

 

“That will never not be the strangest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Stiles muttered, pulling out his phone.

 

_Get home. Peter has been sniffing Cas for like the past half hour_

 

The reply came in under a minute.

 

_What???_

 

Stiles rolled his eyes.

 

_You know one of the many good qualities about texts is that they’re rereadable, right?_

 

His phone buzzed angrily at him.

 

_Shut up smartass. I shouldn’t be there he might attack me._

 

Stiles frowned at the phone and showed it to Lydia. She nodded, an ‘I concede that point’ kind of gesture. Stiles raised his eyebrows and Lydia rolled her eyes before mouthing ‘Kate’. Stiles groaned and smacked himself on the forehead.

 

_Okay. But be home for dinner_

 

_Of course_


	4. love is patient, love is kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: canon typical violence  
> title from [She Keeps Me Warm by Mary Lambert](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NhqH-r7Xj0E)

Derek messed around in the woods for a few hours, waiting until the sun started to glow golden and warm with late afternoon light.

 

He came into the house through the backdoor, hesitant and still a little dazed from meeting Dean and Sam. A true Alpha. He’d thought that was a myth - everyone thought that was a myth. No one really knew what exactly made a true Alpha. Some people said it was those righteous and pure of heart and mind, others suggested that it was just a fluke of genes, or that it could be brought out by extreme stress. No matter how it happened, it was rare enough that it was always a friend of a friend’s great-great-great-Alpha.

 

The kitchen was filled with light and the smell of pack and the beginnings of chili. It was Isaac, Erica and Boyd’s turn to cook. They scent marked him absently as he passed, and he returned the small touches easily. He saw Stiles on a stool at the kitchen table and zeroed in, snagging a chair so he could sit behind him.

 

Derek buried his face in the back of Stiles’ neck, taking deep hits of his scent. Stiles was the best thing he’d ever smelled, like _home_ and _safety_ and all manner of things he didn’t really believe in anymore.

 

Stiles didn’t say anything or move to touch Derek - he knew by now if he did, Derek would just back off with a vaguely horrified expression. As if he hadn’t meant to do that, and the fact that he did repulsed him. It was better to not acknowledge it, to just soak in the deep content that swelled in his stomach while it lasted.

 

“So what did you do, before you came here?” Stiles asked Castiel.

 

“I was a college librarian and independent researcher. I translated, collected and wrote research papers on old texts.”

 

“Really? What kind?” Stiles asked, intrigued.

 

“Mostly spells, lore and mythology,” Cas said, shrugging. “I always found it fascinating.”

 

“Me too!” Stiles said enthusiastically. “Is that why you took the whole werewolves explanation so well?”

 

Cas nodded. “When I think back on it, it does become painfully clear. I was homeschooled, so I didn’t have much of a basis of comparison for the Hales. I just thought that all families were like that or like us.”

 

Stiles and Castiel continued to chat, and Derek ‘fessed up to sabotaging Castiel’s spells in a small voice before glancing around quietly at his pack to make sure they were doing okay.

 

Isaac, Erica and Boyd were currently arguing over who had to peel the potatoes. Well, Boyd was looking severely unimpressed as Isaac and Erica squabbled. Eventually he just started peeling them himself and waited for them to notice. (It took them almost ten minutes.)

 

Charlie was playing Sims on her laptop, Lydia and Allison hovering over her and laughing hysterically occasionally. Derek had the sinking feeling that they were playing the one with the pack. Last he’d heard, she’d downloaded a mod that allowed polyamorous relationships and had hooked up Allison, Scott and Isaac. Derek was just happy that those three’s sexual frustration was being worked out _somewhere._ Her playing it always ended in him and Stiles getting looks and squeals (that he didn’t want to think too hard about) for _hours._

 

Scott was knocked out on the loveseat, head hanging off the edge and mouth open as he snored. He’d put on Aladdin before he fell asleep, and Jackson and Danny were doing some sort of bro snuggle on the couch as they sang along.

 

Peter was probably at Olivia, Alois and Alyssa’s graves. He spent a lot of time there, reading them their favorite books, singing to them, sitting in silence and letting his scent sink into the ground and coat their tombstones.

 

Derek sighed and returned to his lazy scent marking, looping an arm around Stiles’ waist to play with the hem of his graphic t-shirt. Stiles made a contented noise and settled against Derek more firmly.

 

Pack was safe. Mate was safe.

 

 

-

 

 

Dean took another bite of his chicken casserole. Apparently werewolves had insane metabolisms, because he’d eaten about half of the dish he had made and was still hungry. He had Netflix on, playing one of his favorite episodes of Supernatural.

 

He grinned, remembering Chuck’s terrified face when they hunted him down. The Winchesters hadn’t heard of the obscure book series until it landed a TV show deal, and once they did they were more than concerned about the way that the show knew things about them no one should know.

 

Turned out Chuck was accessing an alternate universe in his sleep. An alternate universe that fucking _sucked._ Jess was dead in the fifth chapter of the first book, their mom was killed by a demon instead of a coven of witches, and everyone was basically constantly miserable. Other-Dean and other-Sam had a shitty, unhealthy relationship where they constantly lied to each other. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had lied to Sam over something more important than who did the laundry last.

 

But Sam had Jess in the show, and Dean had…

 

Dean was more than half in love with the Castiel of the show and books, and he’d had more than a few embarrassing dreams about him. Not wet dreams, he’d lost all shame considering those a long time ago, but dreams where they held hands and grossed out Sam with how in love they were (Dean didn’t feel bad about it, Sam had disgusted him with Jessica for a long time) and picked out colors for the nursery. They had a baby named Mary, kissed as the sun set, danced at their wedding in a way that wasn’t completely appropriate for public.

 

Sam wasn’t around to tease him, so he spoke along with the lines, heart clenching painfully as other-Dean begged Cas not to go back to heaven. Not to become a sheriff or whatever the hell, to just stay with him. Not to leave him like everyone else had.

 

“I need you, Cas,” other-Dean said, and Dean mouthed along with the words. “I can’t do this without you. Please don’t make me.”

 

Cas pressed his forehead against other-Dean’s, and they stood like that for a moment, eyes closed and breathing in the comfort of each other’s presence.

 

When other-Dean opened his eyes, Cas was gone.

 

Dean cried, ‘cause hell, it wasn’t like anyone was around to see.

 

-

 

Jason shivered, had been shivering quite a while. He’d stopped crying, tears dried up and mouth bone dry. Holly had woken up slowly, started screaming and wouldn’t stop until the man came in and gagged her. Her screams had faded to whimpers, and Jason could barely hear them through the gag.

 

He felt the back of his neck again, almost obsessively. He had no more tears, but he still sobbed when he found the scab peeling away to reveal smooth skin. This wasn’t - it wasn’t _fair._ He hadn’t done anything to deserve this. Maybe his parents were right, he thought wildly. Maybe God was real and punishing him for his sins. With the shit he’d done it only made sense.

 

“Holly,” he gasped out. Holly looked at him, eyes wide and terrified. “I’m gonna - he’s gonna come for me soon, okay?”

 

Holly shook her head desperately, like she could make the inevitable not happen if she just denied it hard enough. The man had left the door cracked, a taunt, but it allowed them enough light to see a little.

 

“I’m sorry, I,” he choked on his own breath and sobs. “I’m sorry.”

 

Holly reached out and grasped his hand, fingers squeezing his with surprising strength.

 

He thought she might have said ‘it’s okay’ but it was impossible to tell with the gag.

 

The man appeared in the doorway then, and Jason shook so hard he thought he was going to vibrate out of his skin.

 

“Please don’t, I, just please, I’m-” Jason said. His voice shook almost as badly as his body.

 

“Don’t worry,” the man said, unlocking Jason’s chains. “You’ll feel better soon.”

 

“Better how?” Jason asked, flinching away from the man’s hands caressing his arms.

 

“Well, I’ve always assumed that being dead is better than-” the man gestured at Jason’s… everything. “- _this._ It certainly _smells_ better.”

 

The man pulled him to his feet then, hand gentle but firm where it gripped Jason’s arm. It was at odds with the rusting metal door and the cement floor, with the stained carpet in the hallway and flickering overhead lights.

 

 _There are no atheists in foxholes,_ Jason thought.

 

He prayed.


	5. something pulls my focus 'til you can't walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: some dubcon frottage, see end notes for more info  
> chapter title from [Stop and Stare by One Republic](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=3&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CCsQtwIwAg&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DKA1LYTWtVQ0&ei=aVkpVdyWAo7hoAS9iICYCg&usg=AFQjCNFAv9TxqRgo0EHTobeO0bJQ3ds-wg&sig2=8KHwjUbECBp1UXMx2DoR8A)

It wasn’t difficult at all to talk Castiel into trying a spell (sans Derek the spell saboteur). In fact, all Stiles had to do was start the sentence before Castiel was running upstairs to rummage in one of his duffel bags for a book.

 

“Here we go,” Castiel said. The volume was thin, bound in old cracked leather. Stiles couldn’t read the title - it looked like Latin, and he’d opted to go the Greek route when Lydia insisted that they start to learn ancient languages. He assumed it was called _How to Go from a Muggle to a Wizard_ , or _So You Want to Learn How to Explode Things with Your Mind_ , _or How to Make Your Spark a Goddamn Bonfire_ , or _How to Turn Trespassers and Tourists into Toads_.

 

Cas flipped past the exciting pictures of people making things explode with their _brains_ and doing something that looked like transfiguration and a man inexplicably growing boobs for the comparably boring picture of a piece of wood sitting untouched in the middle of a fire.

 

“Fireproofing?” Stiles guessed.

 

“Yes. It’s the easiest spell here, and has the most common ingredients. We should be able to find what we need in the yard. Do you have ginger?”

 

“Yeah. What are we gonna look for?” Stiles asked, trailing after Castiel as he walked outside.

 

“White heather and witch hazel,” Castiel said, heading for the edge of the woods.

 

Stiles spotted the necessary plants almost immediately. He had researched the hell out of plant meanings around a year ago, carefully plotting a bouquet that would express his feelings for Derek perfectly. Even though the flowers were a joke for Father’s Day - a joke he had repeated again this year. And possibly every year after this, until Derek got a hint. Or preferably didn’t.

 

So that was how he knew witch hazel meant magic and white heather meant protection and ginger would just enhance whatever you were doing.

 

They found the plants quickly and then headed inside, Stiles grabbing the ginger and the nearest wooden object he could see - a [wolf knickknack](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRnnYGDdpmRdDZdfAme6ro3A61Dyl8Z6Y5Dr3WvEkAoa51Dewpq). Castiel put the plants down on the table and dug around in the inside of his trench coat before taking out a mortar and pestle. Stiles didn’t even bother being surprised - it was like the friggin TARDIS in those pockets.

 

Castiel ground up a hunk of the ginger, the white heather and witch hazel as best as he could in the mortar. It was difficult because they weren’t dry, but the more he worked at it the more the ingredients seemed to dry out and turn into a fine powder. Not super magic-y but still pretty fucking not normal. Stiles decided he’d take it.

 

Castiel turned to add running water from the tap, making it into a paste. Stiles wanted to say something, wanted to say a _lot_ of things, but talking might mess up the spell and magic was a good enough motivation to keep his mouth shut.

 

He rubbed the paste into the wooden figurine thoroughly, making sure to coat all of it. Once he’d inspected it twice he turned on the sink.

 

“Quaesco hanc ab igne, terra,” Castiel said, putting the figurine under the running water and scrubbing it clean with his fingertips.

 

Once he was done and had thoroughly dried it off with a towel, Stiles couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

 

“It’s done right?” he asked, twitching abortively toward the figurine.

 

“Yes,” Castiel said.

 

“So I can set it on fire, right?!” Stiles said, louder, obnoxiously excited.

 

Castiel smiled patiently and nodded. 

 

“Best day _ever_ ,” Stiles muttered, digging in a drawer until he got lighter fluid and running outside. “No one EVER lets me light fires anymore. I mean, seriously, that fireball was only _one time.”_

 

Castiel was starting to wonder whether this was such a good idea, but still handed over the figurine for Stiles to toss in the fire pit. Stiles squeezed some lighter fluid on it and then lit it up.

 

They watched the way the fire burned around it and on the wood at the bottom of the pit.

 

Stiles turned with a start when Derek grasped his arm, raising his eyebrows.

 

“I thought you weren’t allowed to start fires without a pack member supervising,” Derek rumbled.

 

“I did! I had Castiel!” Stiles said defensively. Castiel, bless his soul, nodded.

 

Stiles dumped a water bottle onto the fire and then reached down to grab the figurine.

 

“Stiles, you’re gonna burn-”

 

“Nope,” Stiles said cheerfully, leaning in and wiggling his eyebrows and the figurine. “We _fireproofed it._ Feel, it’s not even hot!”

 

Derek frowned, but snatched the figurine from Stiles’ fingers. His scowl twitched in surprise when he felt the temperature of it. His fingers gentled on it, face weird in a way Stiles didn’t particularly like.

 

And oh, oh _shit,_ that was right - Derek’s family _burned to death._

 

_And Stiles had just shown him something they fireproofed._

 

“So,” Stiles said, coughing awkwardly. “I don’t think we can do this to the entire house but do you think we could like ward it from fire or whatever?”

 

Castiel perked up, back straightening slightly, eyes bright and excited. “Yes, of course, let me find the appropriate spells.”

 

Castiel turned and walked back towards the house as Stiles and Derek gazed after him.

 

“Does he always dress like that?” Derek asked, gesturing at the full suit and trench coat.

 

 _Thank you,_ Stiles translated.

 

“Yeah, he doesn’t even have anywhere to go today. I think he just enjoys looking like Constantine,” Stiles said.

 

 _Anytime,_ he meant.

 

-

 

Dean woke up feeling like he was about to burst out of his skin. He stumbled downstairs to piss, but the noise was loud in his ears and the stench of urine so strong he gagged. Everything felt sharper and brighter - not in a totally bad way but… it was intense and entirely too much for having just woken up.

 

The kitchen’s light was so bright he swore, shielding his eyes and stumbling towards the coffee maker.

 

“Hey Dean,” Sam’s voice said just as Dean’s shaking hand started to pour the coffee into a mug.

 

He dropped the pot and it shattered, sending hot coffee and glass shards flying through the kitchen. Sam shouted in surprise, and Dean covered his ears with his forearms defensively.

 

“Jesus Christ, Sammy!” Dean whisper shouted, wincing at the sound of his own voice. Everything was so fucking _loud._

 

“Sorry, do you have a headache?” Sam asked in a quieter tone.

 

“Loud,” Dean grimaced, whispering. “Everything is _really loud.”_

 

Sam mimed zipping his lips shut and Dean relaxed some. There were a couple of birds he would happily slaughter, but this was _much_ better.

 

Then Bobby tramped through the door, banging it open and shut again, holding plastic grocery bags. Dean snarled at him, eyes red and fingernails sharpened to claws.

 

“You should go see Derek,” Bobby said, before starting to whistle.

 

Dean ran out of the house and then a little farther, panting when he came to a stop by the Impala. He could still hear Bobby, but it wasn’t as sharp and immediate. He tried to block out the noise as best he could, which wasn’t hard with those goddamn flies making a racket.

 

Dean opened the door to Baby, running a hand over the steering wheel as he waited for Sam. Sam was scarfing down some breakfast, though if his senses were nearly as enhanced as Dean’s, Dean had no idea how he could chew. The sound of his own breathing was loud enough that he held his breath for a few moments just to make it _stop._

 

Overwhelming wasn’t a good enough word for it.

 

Sam came out a few minutes later, loping leisurely towards the passenger’s side. He ducked in and shut the door - Dean winced away at the slam - and buckled himself in.

 

Sam gave him directions to Derek’s house, something that Dean hadn’t even thought about being necessary. He had to swallow down his intense pride for his sibling, mostly because it was ridiculous that he get choked up over something so friggin small.

 

When they pulled into the drive there were already four cars there. A tan 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V, a blue Jeep, a Camaro and a Porsche. The tan and blue cars seemed out of place, lived in and approachable, the kind of average car you’d see anywhere. The Porsche and Camaro were obviously well loved, and well taken care of, but it was the cold kind of love that you often saw in nicer vehicles.

 

They _were_ damn nice cars though, even the douchemobile Porsche.

 

Derek stuck his head out of the front door and then the rest of his body, waiting patiently for them on the porch as they got of the car - fucking hell, Dean loved his Baby, but was getting in and out of her always this _loud_ \- and headed for the house.

 

“So,” Derek said, ushering them inside (looming threateningly and glowering at them while edging them subtly towards where he wanted them to be) and to the kitchen table.

 

They all took a seat, though Dean was fidgeting, too much energy, wanting nothing more than to stand and pace the length of the kitchen and back. He did so, hopping up and down a few times to try and get rid of some of the excess. Sam looked to be doing breathing exercises to stay calm and still, eyes relaxed and droopy like they always were during the times he meditated.

 

“We need to find you two anchors,” Derek said firmly.

 

“Are we going sailing?” Dean asked, but the joke fell flat, his voice tense even though he tried to make it light hearted. Both Sam and Derek rolled their eyes. Well, Derek looked to be rolling his eyes mentally.

 

“An anchor is an emotion or idea or item that will help you keep your head during the full moon - or any other time. It keeps the wolf from taking over, keeps your instincts in check,” Derek’s voice trailed off into background noise as a far more interesting sound took up Dean’s attention.

 

Dean was sure that Derek was saying some really, really important stuff, he truly was. But there was a heartbeat he could hear, blocking out everything else, the thrum of it comforting and warm and Dean never wanted to hear anything else. There was a low, gravelly voice as well, but Dean couldn’t give less of shit as to what it was saying. It was just the goddamn best thing he’d ever heard.

 

“Dean!” he heard Sam say, but it was distant and he growled at Sam lowly for making the heartbeat and voice harder to hear.

 

Then the voice and heartbeat were _in the room,_ and Dean was darting towards the source. Messy dark hair and blue eyes that cut through him, stubble that Dean wanted to rub his face against and a trench coat and suit that looked amazing on the man but would look even better _off_ of him. He would do anything, _anything,_ for this man, would tear apart the world and anything that stood between them. And that sounded cheesy as hell and it was but -

 

“What the hell is going on?” Sam hissed to Derek.

 

Derek was making a face that could be interpreted as a smile if you were squinting and also Stiles. “Your brother- he just found his mate.”

 

“Is that why he’s-” Sam gestured toward the increasingly uncomfortable looking Castiel and the euphoric Dean. Stiles waved from where he had come in behind Castiel, and looked Dean over with appreciation.

 

Derek coughed, concealing a laugh. Stiles didn’t bother, chortling. “Yeah he doesn’t - his control is still a little uh. Shaky.”

 

“Dean,” Sam called gently. “You’re kinda uh - you’re.”

 

“Yeah?” Dean sighed blissfully.

 

“I do not wish to engage in frottage with you,” Castiel said firmly.

 

“Oh my God, _what,_ I’m not even-” Dean paused. “I’m humping your leg, aren’t I?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel said.

 

Stiles snickering fit broke out into full blown giggles.

 

“I am _so_ friggin’ sorry dude I just - I can’t seem to – stop,” Dean finished miserably, face buried in Castiel’s neck.

 

“Why is this happening?” Castiel asked. Now that Derek was observing him carefully, he seemed to have relaxed into the contact and didn’t smell like discomfort at all anymore. That would be him sensing the mating bond.

 

“You’re his mate,” Derek said simply.

 

“I’m his mate,” Castiel said flatly.

 

“He’s my _mate,_ ” Dean growled happily, face dopey with happy making chemicals his body was producing at a ridiculous rate.

 

Sam snickered, and Derek looked even more done with everything than usual.

 

“Yes he’s going to try to, uh, _cement_ the bond unless we get him out of here. He doesn’t have enough control yet to be around you without trying to do what his instincts are telling him to.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes at Castiel’s uncomprehending face. “He’s going to fuck you.”

 

“Oh my,” Castiel said faintly.

 

Dean groaned. Not a happy groan, though that was in there a little bit, mostly a really frustrated one. “Dude, I am _so_ fucking sorry.”

 

“Pun,” Stiles whispered, like he couldn’t help himself. Dean glared. Derek also glared, in that way that meant he was laughing on the inside. _You’re so hilarious, Stiles,_ Stiles thought in mimicry of Derek’s voice.

 

Erica popped in the room, presumably drawn by the extremely attractive man grinding all up on another extremely attractive man. She was like Batman, but instead of sensing crime she sensed gay sex.

 

She stood there for a moment, admiring the scene, before saying cheerfully, “At least we found his anchor!”

 

Castiel shook his head, looking slightly fond but mostly worried. “I don’t even know his name.”

 

“Dean,” Dean said, grabbing Castiel’s hand and shaking it. He then twined their fingers together, proving he may have had ulterior motives.

 

“Castiel Novak,” Castiel said.

 

Dean gaped, pulling away from Castiel’s neck and staring him straight in the face. “Cas?”

 

-

 

Sam waited patiently as the phone dialed, grinning when Jess picked up.

 

“Hey babe,” she greeted, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

 

“Hey. I’ve got some bad news,” Sam said, sighing and rubbing his forehead.

 

“What is it?” Jess said, suddenly alert.

 

“I think I’m going to have to change colleges.”

 

“Oh.” she laughed, relieved. “You scared me a little. I thought you got hospitalized again. Now, wherever you are and whatever’s going on I’m coming there. Don’t you dare think you can talk me out of it. We can talk about the colleges thing when I get there.”

 

Sam laughed. “Okay, and wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

“This is a supernatural thing, isn’t it?”

 

Sam sighed again, drawing out the word. “Yeah.”

 

“You know I love Dean, but he gets you into the worst shit every summer break.” Jess sighed.

 

“Yeah I mean, something happened, it’s… I should really wait until you’re here to tell you.” Sam paused. “On the upside, Dean found his Cas.”

 

There was a pause where Sam think Jess stopped breathing. “No way,” she gasped.

 

“Yes, way,” Sam said, grinning his face off.

 

“Samuel Luc Winchester, tell me where you are this instant I am buying goddamn plane tickets right now,” Jess said.

 

“You won’t need to, we’re only a few hours away,” Sam said.

 

“Even better. And that place would be…?”

 

“Beacon Hills.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One character is not fully in control of themselves and humps another character's leg. It's a v lighthearted scene, and most characters find it amusing, and the character being rubbed against is only mildly uncomfortable. There are apologies exchanged.


	6. you're so fucking special (i don't belong here)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings for this chapter! just some good old fashioned derek angst :)  
> the chapter title is from the song [Creep by Radiohead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rsqg95anNw)

Derek had sent Dean down to the basement’s full moon containment cells as soon as they managed to cajole Dean into letting go of Cas. Sam went down when the moon started to rise, already a little twitchy from his last contact with his anchor (Jess) being several hours ago.

 

He was mostly past trying to break out of the room by now, the reinforced mountain ash bars enough to stop even a true Alpha. Instead he was howling; it was a long, drawn out, mournful sound.

 

Derek asked Cas for some dirty clothes and Cas provided them happily. He looked somewhat guilty that Dean was in such obvious distress, even though it wasn’t his fault. Stiles and Erica were in the basement keeping Dean company, and Derek passed the clothes through the bars to Dean. He’d left to grab something to eat, with the questionable consequence of Erica and Stiles being left alone with Dean and Sam.

 

“Could just. Hold his hand,” Dean said pitifully, scratching sadly at the wooden bars.

 

“No bud, you’d end up humping the bars and making everyone really uncomfortable,” Stiles said softly. “You’ll get through this, I promise. It’s horrible for everyone involved if you split up Isaac and Scott and Allison on the full moon, but they get through it.”

 

“You can have more than one mate?” Sam asked, from where he was curled up on the other side of the cage. He was huddling miserably in a corner, sniffling ever so often. His Alpha was having a full meltdown and wouldn’t let Sam even try and comfort him without snapping irritably.

 

“It’s rare,” Erica said, carefully painting her big toenail. “And not necessarily worth it, you’re twice as vulnerable.”

 

“Vulnerable?” Sam asked.

 

“The mate bond makes you more powerful in every way, but if you were to ever lose it you’d be… crippled. Best case scenario you’d go insane.” Erica made a face. “Not to mention that some people can’t get their shit together and figure out that threesomes are a thing and they should be doing them.” she paused, pointedly, then looked at Stiles.

 

“Look, I’ve tried to talk to Scott about it, it’s not my fault he’s _stupid_ and _bad with words,_ ” Stiles said defensively.

 

Dean heard Cas talking upstairs and started up with the howling again. Sam howled with him, face scrunching up in sorrow as he sobbed. His claws dug into his arms until he was bleeding, trying to ground himself in the face of his Alpha’s grief.

 

“Shit,” Stiles said, rubbing his temples. “Hey, Derek, see if you can find a best friend or significant other of Sam’s to talk with. He’s starting to lose it.”

 

Derek didn’t call down affirmation, but Stiles knew he had heard. Derek’s increased Alpha powers paired with his PTSD hyper vigilance meant that Derek knew what was happening everywhere, all the time. Half the frowning during conversation was just trying to stay concentrated and not get overwhelmed by too much information.

 

The other half was because his pack was a bunch of dumbass teenagers.

 

“Yeah, he’s got some pretty bad food poisoning and started crying when this sad werewolf movie came on. He’s got it turned up pretty loud, so sorry about the no-” Derek said, coming down the stairs.

 

“Is that _Dean howling?_ What the hell is going on?” Jess’ voice demanded through the phone, sharp and no nonsense.

 

Derek opened his mouth for another lie, but Stiles huffed impatiently and snatched the phone out of his Alpha’s fingers.

 

“Hello, yes, I’m Stiles. You are and your relation to Sam is…?”

 

“Jess, his girlfriend, now tell me what the hell is happening.”

 

“Lovely to meet you Jess! Yeah, so your boyfriend’s a werewolf.”

 

There was a long pause.

 

“Uh.”

 

“Don’t worry!” Stiles said hastily. “Not the killing kind. I mean, occasionally we kill, but not like the ones you’re thinking of. We’re not the kind in Supernatural, promise. Speaking of which, were they the inspiration for the TV and book series cause seriously-”

 

Jess laughed breathlessly. “I’m in Beacon Hills. Can you give me some directions to where you guys are? I’ll stay on the phone till then.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Stiles said, listing off the directions quickly. “Do you want to talk with Sam?”

 

“Duh,” she said, voice still full of relief.

 

Stiles handed the phone to Sam (putting it on speaker first), who cradled it carefully in his clawed fingers, breaking into a sharp toothed grin when he heard Jess speak.

 

Sam calmed down completely from there, still a little pre-verbal and resorting to happy yips and growls every once in a while.

 

Dean cried into a pair of Cas’ dirty underwear.

 

Stiles sighed and wished he could do something for the poor guy. Allison had been away for the week for a (fully disastrous if the way she put it was true) family reunion once, and Isaac and Scott had been practically inconsolable. Allison hadn’t been able to skype with them like she had promised because her family was doing some crazy as fuck old tradition of letting loose scared werewolf children and hunting them before killing them in front of their Alpha.

 

Chris was never one to make waves even though he had disagreed with this particular tradition, and as he had married into the Campbells he had no particular say in what went on. As the head of the Argent family, however, Allison could stop it dead with crossbow bolts through the most traditional people’s kneecaps and some broken collarbones.

 

Instead of wasting time on failing to comfort Dean, Stiles went upstairs. He knew that the pack would be outside, most of the humans splayed out on the porch and not taking part of the games the werewolves played. It could get pretty rough on the full moons and their bodies were too fragile for the gentle (at least what the wolves thought was gentle) rough housing.

 

Derek was waiting by the door for him, and Stiles grinned, running a hand across Derek’s cheek.

 

“Hey, what are you doing in here?”

 

Derek shrugged noncommittally, which Stiles took to mean _you are the light of my life Stiles, and red rover is meaningless without you taking bets and losing horribly._

 

Stiles didn’t comment on it though, because it was one thing to be wrong and another to have Derek roll his eyes and mutter ‘idiot’ before shouldering his way out of the door.

 

Derek jerked a thumb over his shoulder before heading out, Stiles barely managing to duck through before it slammed shut. He made a face at Derek’s back as the other man grabbed a lacrosse stick before loping gracefully across the yard to catch the ball from a wild throw Erica made.

 

“Stilinski,” Danny said with a nod of acknowledgement from where he was leaning against Lydia and typing away on his laptop.

 

“Bro,” Charlie said, reaching out a hand for a high five. “Wanna play Sims with me and Allison and Lydia?”

 

“Sure,” Stiles said, sprawling across the porch with his head in Lydia’s lap. He couldn’t help but wonder how much him of three years ago would hate him if he knew that right now Stiles felt nothing but the warmth of pack from Lydia’s body. That he’d given up on his ten year plan and began a totally new one.

 

Ah yes, Stiles thought, watching Jackson and Danny make out on the screen. If past-Stiles knew that Stiles was 100% in love with someone else he wouldn’t believe it. Stiles had always been a one-person kind of guy. Sure, he wouldn’t have passed a one night stand if it came along _(you would,_ a stupid, infatuated part of Stiles muttered), but he was always more interested in the intimacy sex brought then the actual… sex itself. Don’t get him wrong, sex sounded awesome, but you know what sounded awesomer? Waking up in bed and sharing good morning kisses with someone who looked adorably grumpy, dark hair ruffled and light green eyes heavy with sleep, muttering threats to Stiles like _make me coffee or I’ll never blow you again -_

 

Stiles realized that he was drifting off into daydream land just long enough to decide he didn’t care, flipping onto his back and letting his legs dangle off the porch.

 

Meanwhile, Derek was _absolutely not_ staring like a love struck idiot.He would be trying to communicate this to the pack, except he couldn’t care because Stiles smelled - he smelled…

 

Stiles always smelled like the best thing, better than Cora’s gingersnap perfume, better than Aunt Olivia’s cranberry sauce, better than his Dad’s hugs. But right now Stiles smelled happy, so happy that Derek’s heart swelled with it and the bitter knowledge that he couldn’t walk right over and kiss the quiet smile off Stiles’ face. He wanted to though, oh, how he wanted to, and he knew it must have been coming off of him in waves. He could feel the pack pause and stare at him, heard them mutter among themselves before coming to the consensus that he was _probably_ fine and there was _probably_ nothing to worry about so _really_ they should be okay to play freeze tag.

 

Stiles was asleep now, face lax and snoring lightly as he talked in his sleep, something about jellybeans and spacemen ear buds. Derek shook his head and his own longing clogged up his nose until it stung his throat.

 

He only noticed Lydia getting up because she was who Stiles had been using as a pillow; she transferred him to Allison’s lap expertly. (They all had experience with getting him off them with the least disturbance possible. Waking a sleeping person wasn’t quite as big a crime as waking a kitten or puppy, but it felt close when it was Stiles blinking those wide, confused amber eyes at you.)

 

Derek wasn’t worried about this change until she was standing and striding towards him, grabbing his hand and tugging him inside before he could backpedal and play with his pack again.

 

Lydia dragged him into the downstairs bathroom, closing and locking the door before turning the shower on so that no one could hear over the white noise.

 

“Okay that’s it, out with it,” Lydia said, tapping manicured fingers on the counter.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek tried, sounding unsure even to himself.

 

“It’s not like you’re _subtle,”_ Lydia said, flipping her hair behind her shoulder in one practiced motion. “We all know. And it’s not like you’re doing anyone any favors.”

 

“This is a waste of water,” Derek bit out, studying the tile very firmly. He still remembered it being laid - Stiles had taken his shirts off until he was sweating in just a tank top as he got on his hands and knees, arching his back occasionally for balance.

 

Oh yes, he remembered the tile being laid.

 

Lydia sighed, voice full of exasperation. “Look, I’m just trying to _help._ Do you have any idea how much more productive we’d be if you just got your shit together and -”

 

“I think I hear someone calling for me,” Derek lied, opening the bathroom door and striding purposefully out of it. It wouldn’t take much to talk him into a decision that he couldn’t back out of - he’d been holding out so _long,_ worked so _hard_ not to give in.

                               

“You’re going to lose him, you know,” Lydia called after him, and he stopped mid-stride, body tightening. “You’re going to lose him to someone else, and he’s gonna make stupid long limbed motor mouthed babies with them, and you’ll have to live with them in the pack every day just because you couldn’t fucking _man up_ and do what you should.”

 

“I know,” Derek said, and his voice came out gruff. It didn’t sound cracked or defeated, and the claws digging into his palms helped him remember why stopping that future would be a bad idea.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Lydia said, and Derek got the distinct feeling she was throwing her hands up.

 

“Do you wish to help me brew a potion?” he heard Castiel’s polite voice say from behind him. That shocked him into motion and he headed for his room.

 

He knew he would lose Stiles, and he knew that it was best for him. Derek was - he was _broken._ Stiles deserved to sleep through the night without Derek shredding the sheets from nightmares, deserved to not wake up with Derek sobbing silently into him at odd hours of the night. He deserved more, deserved someone who could smell cooking meat and not throw up, someone who didn’t terror sweat through his shirts when there was a bonfire.

 

Stiles deserved someone who could take him on a date without constantly scanning the restaurant for threats, deserved someone who could have sex without the slightest thing setting them into flashbacks. He deserved someone who didn’t still get looked at like a felon in public, someone who had never killed, who hadn’t…

 

Who hadn’t killed their family.

 

Stiles deserved _everything._


	7. i'll be your teenage dream tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: canon typical violence
> 
> chapter title from [Teenage Dream by Katy Perry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y1Rh6hhghWc)

Liam Dunbar moved to Beacon Hills on June 2nd, and he learned shortly after that the convenience store a mile and a half away sold cheaper junk food and soda than the one two blocks away. Unfortunately he didn’t have a car, so he had to borrow his best friend Mason’s.

 

He was in the Spirit collecting the obligatory snacks and drinks for his and Mason’s annual July 14th sleepover (the anniversary of when their friendship began) when he got the sudden feeling that he was being watched.

 

He ignored it, though his neck prickled at the feeling of the stranger he knew was lurking _just_ out of sight. Focused on the thought of work tomorrow (his dad and Mason’s dad ran a direct to garment print shop and both of them had permanent jobs at the store), and how the beginning of the back to school rush meant they would have some extra money around the house.

 

Liam checked out and tried to ignore the instinctual dread, shoulders hunched up high and defensive, fingers curled tightly around the handles of the plastic bags. He could feel whatever it was growing closer and he started running towards his car, feeling slightly silly.

 

He was fast, had always been fast, trained until he was faster than his friends, faster than his team mates, faster faster _faster._

 

But he wasn’t nearly fast enough to outrun whatever was chasing him, wasn’t even close, and he was being slammed up against his car. The breath was knocked out of him and the chips were crushed between him and the car door, bag being slammed open with a loud _pop._

 

“I don’t, my wallet’s in my back pocket, please,” Liam begged, body too frozen to try and squirm out of the iron grip of whoever was behind him.

 

The stranger didn’t answer, instead opting to _bite him in the back of his neck -_ what the _shit_ that was _not_ normal mugger behavior, what was even _happening._

 

Liam had a wild flash of remembering how many germs were in the human mouth before he realized that this was _totally a zombie_ and oh god, he was gonna be eaten alive or - or turned into a zombie and Mason wouldn’t let anyone shoot him this was bad holy shit this was so bad-

 

Then the (probably a) zombie was jerking away and Liam was too scared to turn, heard a car pulling into the usually abandoned gas station parking lot and figured that must have scared it away. Fuck, that meant it was one of the _smart_ and _fast_ zombies. The world was gonna end and he’d just gotten chomped on by patient zero.

 

Liam shook against the car, and the metal was wet where his face pressed against it. He thought it must be raining, but then he realized it was tears. He hadn’t cried in - but that didn’t matter right now. He’d just been bitten by a goddamn zombie, he was fucking _allowed_ to sob against the side of his car.

 

-

 

“Morning,” Stiles whispered, running his hand through Derek’s messy hair.

 

The sunlight was warm where it hit them, and Derek was unashamedly taking up the biggest patch of sunlight like a giant human shaped cat. Derek groaned and arched into the hand, taking a long breath as his nose dragged along the soft skin of Stiles’ inner forearm. Stiles grinned and pressed a kiss to the base of Derek’s throat.

 

Derek blinked at him lazily, green tea eyes tracing the familiar path of Stiles’ features. Stiles reached out a hand to pat at his stubble, running it back and forth over the rough texture like he would with velvet. Derek snorted, grabbed Stiles’ hand to still it and press kisses to his fingertips. Stiles blushed and tried to jerk his hand back, which just ended in a sort of tug a war. Stiles maintains that he won said tug a war, but it was sort of a moot point - Derek let go of Stiles’ hand to tug him forward by the back of his neck and press a soft kiss to his lips.

 

Stiles was stunned, as always, for a moment. This was - Derek wanted him back, they had made it, this was actually _happening._ He kissed back furiously after a slack mouthed moment, but Derek slowed the movement, nipping at Stiles’ lip chastisingly.

 

Stiles was always the one rushing things, terrified that any moment would be the one where he’d lose Derek, where this would all crumble apart and Derek would realize what a terrible mistake he’d made. Derek was always slowing things down, wanting to take his time, draw it out until Stiles was sobbing breathlessly with how good it was, with how much he never wanted it to end.

 

Derek didn’t fumble for Stiles’ dick, because Derek never fumbled for anything. Derek thought everything through thirty billion times before he did it, even half awake and breathing heavily into Stiles’ mouth.

 

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering under his breath at the perfect friction of precome and Derek’s callused hand.

 

“Feel good?” Derek murmured, grinning like the little shit he secretly was.

 

“Asshole,” Stiles gasped out, reaching up his free hand to twist his fingers in Derek’s messy hair. His other hand snuck under the blankets to wrap loosely around Derek’s dick.

 

“I’ll be in yours before we’re done, if that’s what you mean,” Derek said, laughter in his eyes.

 

Stiles let out a manly chuckle (a giggle) and gasped when Derek’s hand slid down to rub against his hole.

 

“Mate,” Derek growled quietly, and Stiles groaned. “Mine.”

 

“Yours,” Stiles agreed fervently. “Yours - mine, mate mate - fuck, come on I’m getting old here, stick a finger in.”

 

Derek grinned and let his finger slip inside, opening his mouth to say something.

 

“Get up!” Erica’s voice yelled, and Stiles flinched awake.

 

“Jesus Christ, Erica.” he moaned, rubbing a hand down his face. He glanced down to see he wasn’t even hard.

 

Pathetic, he was pathetic. This just reinforced that it wasn’t even a dream that was truly about the sexy, it was just another in the continuing series of _Derek and Stiles: The Life They Could Have_ that picked up every time he closed his eyes.

 

“What, having a good dream?” Erica leered.

 

“Yes, yes I was,” Stiles snapped, dragging himself out of bed.

 

-

 

Jess pulled up in front of the pack house, bones creaking from the long drive and the hard motel bed she’d spent the night on. She spotted a man in a trench coat gardening, speaking calmly to a tall skinny boy in a deep rumble she could just catch the edge of when she opened her door. It wasn’t hard to figure out who it was, with the dark messy hair and the deep voice and the gentle way his hands allowed a bumblebee to crawl over them.

 

It was laughably easy to know exactly who he was when she met his eyes, the bluest blue to ever blue, and she understood how in another life he could be an angel.

 

“Castiel,” she said warmly, wrapping him in a hug.

 

He startled, and Jess remembered suddenly that he didn’t like people other than Dean invading his personal space. She pulled back, smiling apologetically. It was weird to think that he didn’t already know her, when she’d known him - or at least, _a_ him - for years now.

 

“I’m so happy he found you,” Jess said sincerely. She tacked on an introduction as an afterthought. “I’m Jess, by the way. I’m Sam’s girlfriend.”

 

“Speak of the devil,” the skinny boy said from where he was crouched on the ground, not having bothered to rise when he saw Jess approaching.

 

Then she was being swept up by strong, familiar arms, and she shrieked and laughed, clinging to him until Sam swept her around and spun her properly. 

 

She noticed Dean when Sam set her down, ignored her boyfriend’s brother in favor of giving Sam a sweet, lingering kiss. Then she was walking towards Dean and being drawn into a hug.

 

“Whoa,” Dean breathed, before taking another deep breath of her hair. He pulled back to grin at her. “You smell like actual sunshine and strawberries and cotton candy. How the hell did my brother trick you into dating him, again?”

 

“Dean,” Sam groaned, rolling his eyes and stealing Jessica back to kiss her some more.

 

It was because of all that kissing they were doing that they didn’t notice Dean rapidly losing interest in them and reorienting to Cas.

 

He stared at his mate with wide, red, longing eyes, taking in deep breaths and inching closer. Dean was only a foot away when Erica called from inside the house, “Dean, I can feel you being a creeper at Cas! Cut it out!”

 

Her gaydar was both a blessing and a curse to all those around her. (Mostly a curse, a fact which is loudly reiterated by the pack every day.)

 

Dean startled, clearly not having noticed his own actions. He fixed his eyes on the ground (or, rather, Castiel’s feet) and blushed, rubbing a hand awkwardly against the back of his neck.

 

“Sorry, Cas,” he said quietly. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

 

“Actually,” Cas said, and Dean’s eyes snapped to his mate’s face. He _liked_ the sound of that actually. It had promise to it. “I have a few questions for you.”

 

“Really?” Dean asked, clearly hanging on Cas’ every movement, every noise, every subtle change in scent.

 

Cas nodded, producing a notebook from the inside of his trench coat. Not a little pocket sized one, a full sized spiral notebook with a picture of a cartoon bee on the cover with the words “BEE TRUE TO YOURSELF” around it on the red background.

 

“I’m very interested in interviewing you on what it’s like to go from being a human to being an alpha.”

 

Dean nodded eagerly, looking for all the world a puppy as he followed Cas indoors.

 

“Heart eyes, motherfucker,” Stiles muttered under his breath, giving Sam and Jess - and their disgustingly adorable making out - one last glance before trailing after Cas and Dean.

 

Stiles didn’t pay much attention to what Dean and Cas were talking about, thoughts wandering back to his dream that morning. Cas’ interrogation held little interest for him in comparison that, especially with such basic questions – how were you bitten, how long before it healed, what were the first changes you noticed, etc etc fucking etc. He couldn’t bring himself to even pretend to care.

 

Not when he could feel heartsick over how very much he wanted those dreams to stop so he wouldn’t have to wake up from them, how much he wanted to have even the smallest chance to see a life that somewhere, probably, was happening. He wanted to live in that universe more than he wanted to breathe, some days.

 

Stiles tuned back into the conversation before Erica or another of the pack could smell him getting all mopey and come to investigate.

 

“Loud. Everything is like - just louder, sharper, brighter. Like somebody took everything and turned it up to 16.” Dean paused, filling the brief silence by staring lovingly into Cas’ eyes. “And then I met you. And now everything you do is turned up to 16 while everything else is back around 11.”

 

Cas and Stiles both spoke at the same time, Stiles making a (probably not as clever as he thought it was) quip and Cas starting another question. Cas stopped politely, to let Stiles speak, but Dean growled at Stiles until he petered off awkwardly. Dean hadn’t even taken his eyes off Cas, didn’t seem to notice what he’d done.

 

He caught sight of Derek sneaking downstairs to make some coffee, still half asleep, and made mournful eyes at him. Derek just snorted and rolled his eyes in a ‘what did you expect’ manner. Derek slowly turned red for no reason at all, back stiffening and eyes widening before he practically ran back upstairs, leaving his coffee half made on the counter.

 

It was probably Erica. It was always Erica.

 

-

 

“Stiles is going to get himself killed if he keeps trying to talk over Cas,” Lydia said dryly, moving her pawn to put Peter in check. Erica was keeping her caught up in what was happening around the house.

 

Peter smirked at the board, since that was his resting facial expression.

 

“I can think of a way Derek can help him shut up,” Erica said, obnoxiously. She emphasized Derek’s name to get his attention. “Stiles would like it, too. I’ve read his blog that he somehow thinks none of us have found, and he talks about how much he wants it. How much he wants his Alpha to hold him by the back of his neck, fuck into that pretty, pretty mouth of his-”

 

Erica grinned in triumph as she heard Derek thump back upstairs and away from the kitchen.

 

-

 

That afternoon most of the pack was gathered in the living room, and Stiles, Castiel (and by extension Dean) and Lydia were trying to come up with spells to try out next.  Stiles had just been steadily working his way through all the Harry Potter spells he could think of, Dean seemed to be drawing from Bewitched, and Lydia was suggesting things that sounded more like complicated science experiments. Cas was keeping notes of what they said, entirely oblivious to the pop culture references.

 

Stiles clapped his hands together and made an obnoxious ‘aha!’

 

“Truth spell,” he said triumphantly. “Great for interrogation or for when _someone_ eats all the cookies and won’t own up to it.”

 

Stiles stared at Scott in the least possible subtle manner.

 

“We’d need to test it on a human, a beta, and an alpha,” Lydia said. “Just to cover all our bases. Since Stiles was the one to suggest it, he can be the human-”

 

Stiles went pale and chuckled weakly.

 

“- Derek can,” Lydia paused. Derek was giving her a look that said, _not only no, but I will **rip your lungs out** if you suggest it. _“-obviously not do it. Dean, would you mind being the alpha test subject?”

 

Dean was busy picturing him and Cas with their first child, so he just nodded vaguely upon hearing his name.

 

“Isaac, would you be okay with being the beta?”

 

Isaac started to sweat and smell like terror, refusing to look at anyone and staring resolutely at the floor. Stiles sighed loudly.

 

“Boyd, would you-” he started.

 

“ME YES I VOLUNTEER,” Erica yelled, bouncing up and down and grinning like the Chesire cat.

 

Boyd looked relieved, not liking to be singled out. He liked being part of a group, liked sitting in the background and observing. Being talked to loudly and in front of everyone else? Yeah, not so much.

 

“I’ll just go and retrieve a tome from my room,” Castiel said, standing and leaving his notebook and pen behind. “I have a few spells that should be adequate.”

 

“Okay,” Dean said dreamily, getting up to follow Cas and crowding close as he did.

 

Derek sighed and followed Dean to be chaperone, because this was his life now. He used to go out _clubbing,_ he was _only 23_ , why was his life one prolonged babysitting session?

 

Stiles, Erica and Lydia watched Isaac, Scott and Allison doing the awkward three way hormone injected flirting that was ever present between them. Stiles, Erica and Lydia exchanged a look that they had been exchanging frequently for a while now, a look that promised convoluted plots and blackmail.

 

Boyd gave the silent version of _I’M OUT SO HARD BITCHES,_ and jumped out of the kitchen window into the backyard.

 

With _aplomb._

 

Jess came down the stairs then, and everyone glanced at her, expecting her to be three unreasonably attractive men. She reeked of the _(really loud)_ sex everyone was pretending her and Sam didn’t have last night.

 

Erica turned bright red, stuttering and pointing dumbly. “Your Sam is _that_ Sam?”

 

“Erica! Hey, sweetheart,” Jessica walked over and pulled Erica into a hug.

 

Dear God, she smelled like semen. Erica looked like she might throw up.

 

“I haven’t seen you in years,” Jess pulled back, grinning. “You look fantastic.”

 

“Thanks, Aunt Jess,” Erica said weakly.

 

“This explains why your epilepsy is magically gone, then. I know I’ve said this a million times, but I’m so happy for you,” Jess kissed Erica’s cheek.

 

Oh God, Erica had _not_ needed to smell where that mouth had been. She was usually pretty unbothered by sexual things (fascinated, borderline obsessed, _whatever)_ but this was her _aunt._

 

“These are your friends, right? Introduce me to your friends!” Jessica went in for another hug. “So happy for you, baby.”

 

“Everyone, this is my Aunt Jess,” Erica said, breathing very carefully through her mouth and trying to ignore the ridiculous amount of hickies covering her Aunt’s collarbone. Gross, gross, _gross._

 

The backdoor slammed open and everyone jumped as Jo rushed into the kitchen.

 

“Everyone, why aren’t you answering your phones?!” she yelled. “It’s an emergen-”

 

Sam rushed downstairs, toothbrush in his mouth, covered in lip gloss marks. Dean was close behind him, face bristling with ridiculous sideburns and his forehead jutting out like a caveman’s.

 

“-cy! It’s _Charlie’s birthday,”_ Jo paused and made a face in Dean’s direction. “Dude, your _face._ I mean, it’s normally pretty bad but this is some next level shit.”

 

Dean growled, but relaxed. Dean shoved his face in Cas’ trench coat (which surprisingly wasn’t on Cas but was in Dean’s hands instead) and sniffed. Jo watched the display with her head cocked, clearly confused.

 

“Uh, Dean,” Sam said.

 

“What?” Dean asked, voice muffled by the cloth of Cas’ coat. He sounded completely nonchalant; not realizing what he was doing was in any way unusual. He just wanted to carry around something that smelled like his mate, it didn’t explain why everyone was looking at him weird.

 

Cas showed up behind Dean carrying a thick book held together at the seams by duck tape.

 

“Can I have my jacket back?” he requested politely.

 

Dean looked mortified when he realized what he’d done and shoved the coat back into Cas’ arms before running out of the house to skulk. But not far away because his _mate_ was in there and he needed to be close. What if Cas needed cuddles? And _no one was there to supply them?_ What about _then?_

 

Which was, coincidentally, the same reason he’d been sleeping outside of Cas’ door. In case of emergency cuddles (or more likely a glass of water or midnight snack, both of which he has provided).

 

Derek sighed, having come down the stairs behind Cas, his favorite _why me_ expression on. He went out the door after Dean, but not very far, because Dean was plastered up against the open window Boyd had jumped through and was watching Cas and sniffing him through it.

 

“Dean,” Derek said, and Dean made a noise that implied he had heard Derek.

 

“I know it’s hard, but you have to learn to control yourself around him,” Derek said.

 

“I don’t even - I’ll just be standing there, ten feet from him, and then next thing I know I’ve had my face shoved into his neck for the last ten minutes and someone is dragging me off. I don’t realize I’m doing it until it’s done.”

 

Derek sighed. Dean was brand new, had become an Alpha and met his mate in under forty eight hours. He was anchored to his humanity through Castiel, but there was no anchor to help hold against the instincts that urged him to act like a stalker.

 

“Just focus on putting his welfare and comfort before your own,” Derek said. “He comes first.”

 

 _Always,_ he added silently.

 

“We should talk to him about this,” Derek continued. “If you don’t hear it from him, you won’t change anything, no matter how hard you try.”

 

Dean made a wounded noise, low in his throat. He didn’t want to hear from Cas himself that he wasn’t wanted, that he was making Castiel uncomfortable, that Cas thought he was a freak with self esteem issues and too many weapons and a worrying amount of felonies.

 

“I know it’s hard,” Derek said, and his voice came out as something that might even be considered soft. “But you’ll - it will get better.”

 

Dean squinted suspiciously at Derek, having heard the trip up in Derek’s heartbeat - he’d known how to look for tells from the time he was really little, and the whole heartbeat business had been easily added into his normal repertoire.

 

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Dean said. “I mean, we’re equals, aren’t we?”

 

Derek nodded. “You sure you want the truth?”

 

“As much as Elmer Fudd wants to hunt rabbit in duck season, yeah.”

 

“It will get easier to control. But you know that itch inside of you?”

 

Dean nodded tersely. It was borderline maddening, the need to touch Castiel, to make sure he was properly sheltered and nourished and entertained and protected.

 

“It gets worse. The only way you can do this is if you keep reminding yourself that it’s for him, that you’re not with him because he’s happier, _better_ that way.”

 

Dean clenched his jaw, but nodded again. He had the feeling that Derek was speaking from experience and it wasn’t hard to see who about, but he didn’t say anything. The kid probably didn’t even know, didn’t look like he did, and if Derek wanted it that way it was none of Dean’s business to out him. 

 

He could do this, could do this no problem. Putting what people wanted and needed ahead of himself? Easy, he’d been doing that for forever. It wasn’t like it was a _challenge_ to think of Castiel’s needs and wants first - Dean’d been halfway in love with him since he read Lazarus Rising.

 

They started to head inside just as Stiles called for them.

 

“Get your hunks of hot man flesh inside, Alphas!” Stiles yelled. Derek rolled his eyes, but there was something tense in the set of his shoulders that eased at the sound of the kid’s voice.

 

Not hard to see at all, when you knew what to look for.

 

When they re-entered the kitchen, Isaac, Allison and Scott had disappeared to go do… something probably asphyxiatingly drenched in sexual tension. Danny and Jackson had left for their bi-weekly spa day. Charlie was probably at home sleeping in or something, and Sam and Jess had scampered off (presumably to a hotel, where they could have sex and no one would make wounded faces at them for hours afterward) and Peter was off doing whatever it was that Peters did. 

 

Lydia and Jo were chatting quietly at the counter about something the other has not decided on, Cas and Erica and Stiles seated at the table. Cas was pouring something gritty and an eye searing shade of blue into shot glasses from a tupperware container.

 

Cas gave Dean and Derek a nod. Dean joined them at the table and Derek went to hover not very far away. He didn’t exactly like watching his pack members ingest liquids that would _probably_ make them unable to lie but had a very real possibility of doing something else. He didn’t like his pack being guinea pigs, period. They were wolves (and humans who might as well be) and should stay that way, thank you very much.

 

“Try to lie to me, don’t just tell the truth,” Castiel said and - oh, he was planning to ask the questions.

 

“You can’t ask the questions,” Derek said. “It would be hard for Dean to lie to you even if he hadn’t taken a truth potion.”

 

Cas nodded, ceding the point. “Who would like to ask the questions then?”

 

Erica seemed disappointed that she couldn’t both ask the questions and be a test subject, but looked immediately to Lydia.

 

“I’ll ask the questions,” Lydia offered, and Erica winked at her.

 

Knowing that this needed to _not_ happen at any cost, Stiles said the first thing that occurred to him. Thankfully it was a not half bad idea.

 

“Wait, I know what we can do for Charlie’s birthday.”

 

-

 

Charlie walked into the pack house, still scrolling through text messages on her phone and muttering under her breath.

 

“I go home early _one day,”_ she said. “Just to play my game. Just to play _one_ game and then I go to sleep and when I wake up Dean’s found Castiel, and oh, Castiel is _here_ and apparently related to _Derek_ because I wanna play _one goddamn game_ and the entire world decides to go crazy again.”

 

“Happy birthday!” Stiles yelled from the kitchen, and Charlie swore under her breath because here was yet another thing she had wanted to avoid - the special and thoughtful and no doubt perfect birthday party Stiles would throw for her. There’s no way he could know that this was a bad day for her - mostly because she hadn’t told him and hadn’t hinted at it - and she should have known better than thinking that erasing the event off the pack calendar would protect her from Stiles’ goddamn _mothering._ “We have a present for you!”

 

Double shit on a shit fajita. 

 

“Okay!” Charlie said, pumping fake enthusiasm into her voice as she walked into the kitchen. She was hit by an immediate wave of relief - they had _totally_ forgotten. There was no elaborate cake being made, no pile of presents from each of the pack and then five or six from Stiles (he never knew exactly what to get somebody so he usually settled for everything). Just some of the pack and Dean and someone who could only be Castiel.

 

And not just because Dean was staring at him like he hung the moon. Although that helped with the identification process quite a bit.

 

“We’re trying a truth spell, and you get to ask the questions,” Stiles said proudly.

 

“Magic is a thing we can do without being evil and you didn’t immediately tell me?!” Charlie squeaked indignantly.

 

Stiles opened his mouth, closed it, pointed at her, and finally settled on, “It has been sort of hectic.”

 

Charlie huffed. “I’ll overlook it just this once, and only because I’m getting such an awesome bribe. C’mon, who are we whammying with the truth?”

 

“Hey, Charlie,” Dean said, noticing her presence (only because Castiel had turned to look at her as well). “Me and Stiles and Erica are going to be test subjects.”

 

“Hey, Dean,” she replied politely. “Erica, Jo, Cas, Derek.” She winked. “Lydia.”

 

“So let’s test this bitch!” Stiles said excitedly, reaching for his portion of the potion and gulping it down.

 

Derek’s fingers twitched uselessly at his sides, wanting to grab the glass and throw it away before a drop of the (potentially) poison hit Stiles’ system.

 

They all waited a few minutes until they decided that the potion had had plenty of time to take effect by now.

 

Charlie grinned, leaning forward as she templed her fingers, elbows resting on the table. She had grabbed a seat by Cas as they waited.

 

“Dean,” she said. There was something disturbingly gleeful about her tone and Dean looked at her warily. But not too warily because she was his bro, and he trusted her. “Is your dick bigger, the same, or smaller than other-Dean’s?”

 

Dean grinned cockily. “Bigger.”

 

Charlie raised her eyebrows. “No way, you’ve gotta be lying.”

 

“I’d give a demonstration, but there are children watching,” Dean said, looking insufferably pleased with himself.

 

“His heartbeat didn’t stutter,” Erica confirmed. She seemed delighted by the direction things had taken. “How big was other-Dean’s?”

 

“Nine and a half inches,” Charlie said. A thought occurred to her and she looked vaguely panicked. She grabbed Cas’ arm - who did not like that in the slightest - and said very seriously. “Run. Save your ass and run.”

 

 _Bros_ Dean had thought they were, and yet Charlie was here implying that he would hurt Cas.

 

“I would _never_ hurt you,” Dean assured Cas urgently. “I’d let you top forever.”

 

Cas looked vaguely queasy, though whether it was from Dean’s dick size, the way Charlie was still touching his arm, or the talk of sex, was anyone’s guess.

 

Charlie grimaced in apology and removed her hand once she noticed Cas’ face. Right, the no one touches but Dean clause. She’d forgotten about that bit.

 

“Erica,” she said, hoping to lighten the mood. “What color is your bra?”

 

“Green. It’s got little froggies on it,” Erica said. She then pulled down her shirt to reveal a purple bra with what appeared to be pandas on it.

 

Cas frowned loudly, and Stiles asked, “So the truth spell doesn’t work?”

 

“I own more than one bra,” Erica said, in a _duh_ tone of voice.

 

There was a collective _ah_ of understanding from everyone besides Lydia, who had understood at once.

 

“Noted,” Charlie said with an eyebrow waggle before turning on Stiles. “Who’s your favorite superhero?”

 

It was a bit of a running joke, the whole Stiles always lying about his favorite superhero thing. He changed his answer every time, saying everyone from Batman to Ant Man, but every one rang false.

 

Stiles face turned white and his mouth moved before he could stop the words he knew were about to be expulsed forcefully from his face hole. “DEREK IS,” he half shouted.

 

Everyone in the room stared at him, a blank silence before Jo burst out laughing.

 

“I was betting Deadpool, oh my god, this is so much better,” Charlie cackled, and soon everyone was laughing a little.

 

Everyone, excluding Cas and Derek and Stiles. Cas and Derek appeared to not understand the concept of laughter as a whole, and Stiles for the life of him couldn’t figure out how to make his vocal chords respond to him again.

 

“Deadpool is an _antihero,”_ Dean said, chuckling and nudging Stiles good naturedly.

 

“Heh. Ha,” Stiles forced out mechanically.

 

Derek stared, and Erica sniffed subtly in his direction. He smelled like he wanted to jump Stiles’ bones. Go figure.

 

-

 

Liam and Mason sat on the floor of Mason’s room, both staring at the unmarked skin on Liam’s shoulder. Liam’s neck was starting to hurt from the awkward position, and Mason handed him a small mirror so he could stare without messing up his neck.

 

“Okay, so, there are three options here,” Mason said finally. “You’re a vampire, a werewolf, or a zombie.”

 

“I can’t be a zombie,” Liam argued, more because he refused to accept being a zombie lying down than because he actually thought he couldn’t possibly be one.

 

“The transition might not be over yet,” Mason pointed out.

 

“Oh. Uh.” Liam’s brain froze up. “Does this mean we just have to _wait?_ Mason, I can’t just wait, I have - I have things I have to do and I’m supposed to play lacrosse this year I need _scholarships_ -”

 

Liam’s eyes were gold now and he was starting to grow sideburns, which was _weird_ because he hardly even had armpit hair. When the growls started to break into his panicked rant, Mason grabbed the squirt bottle that he had hidden under the bed earlier and sprayed Liam in the face, rather like you would with a bad cat. There may have been some unmanly fear squeaking involved as well.

 

Liam blinked and was back to normal just like that.

 

“Dude, what the fuck? Why do you even _have_ that?”

 

Mason coughed. “I _may_ have made holy water earlier when I said I was taking a shower.”

 

Liam made an _aha_ noise and pointed at Mason in triumph. “I _knew_ I heard chanting!”

 

Mason shrugged unapologetically. “Well at least this means that you’re not a vampire.”

 

They stayed like that for a long moment, both staring at Liam’s shoulder again before an obvious realization occurred to them both at the same time.

 

“Wait, does this mean you’re a werewolf?” Mason said loudly.

 

At the same time Liam said, “Does this mean I’m a _werewolf?”_

 

“Only one way to find out,” Mason said, grabbing his laptop off his desk and flipping it open. Liam crowded around to sit next to his friend.

 

Since it was obviously the only way to proceed, Mason googled [how do you know if you’re a werewolf](https://www.google.com/search?q=how+do+you+know+if+you%27re+a+werewolf&rlz=1C1CHMO_enUS522US522&oq=how+do+you+know+if+you%27re+a+werewolf&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l5.7532j0j7&sourceid=chrome&es_sm=93&ie=UTF-8).

 

-

 

They’d been messing with the truth spell for about an hour, and everyone not a test subject had gotten bored and wandered off, leaving them to talk among themselves.

 

“Seriously though Stiles, when did you lose your virginity?” Erica asked.

 

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m still the unfortunate owner of it.”

 

“Wait. Hold up,” Erica said, gaping. “I thought you were being _sarcastic,_ like, _joking,_ no _way._ ”

 

“Dude, we are not all - _literally -_ supernaturally hot, okay? Do you have any idea how _weird_ people think I am? I do all the distractions and research for you guys, most of the school thinks I’m like, a serial killer or something.”

 

“How old are you, kid?” Dean said.

 

“Seventeen, eighteen on Friday.”

 

Dean looked appalled.

 

“It’s your birthday soon?” Erica said. “Shit, I didn’t know.”

 

Stiles huffed. “It’s on the calendar. I circled it five times. There are neon _stickers_ on it. On the picture is written STILES’ BIRTHDAY MONTH.”

 

“Yeah, but you’re the only person who _uses_ that thing,” Erica pointed out. She paused, then looked horrified. “You were in the _hospital_ last year on that date, Jesus Stiles, why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“I was in a medically induced coma,” Stiles said flatly.

 

“This is one of the most pathetic things I’ve ever seen,” Dean said. He hesitated for a moment, looking a little conflicted, before continuing. “We’re taking you out and getting you laid. You into girls, boys, or both?”

 

“If they’re moderately attractive and haven’t tried to kill me, I would have slept with them.” Stiles said. He thought very hard about anything but the fact that he honestly didn’t really want to lose his virginity anymore. Not to a stranger, at least. Using the past tense seemed to have done the trick.

 

But he had appearances to keep up, so he leered at Erica and she leered back before they both laughed.

 

“Great, Jungle it is,” Dean said cheerfully. “I go there whenever me and Sammy visit Bobby.”

 

“Oh, you’re into guys?” Stiles asked curiously. “I mean, of course you are, because of Cas but…”

 

“I think I’d be into him even if I didn’t like dick,” Dean confessed. “Maybe not sexually but - he’s it, you know?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, staring at his hands and the way his fingers were fiddling with his empty shot glass.

 

“But really,” Dean said cheerfully. “If the person is moderately attractive and doesn’t want to kill me, I’m game.”

 

“Ayy, I see what you did there,” Stiles said, doing pistol fingers. Dean winked at him.

 

“You two are disgusting,” Erica said, looking between them disapprovingly. “You should totally make out.”

 

Dean shuddered and made a face. Stiles felt moderately offended.

 

“Don’t take that the wrong way, jailbait. I’d totally tap that if I wasn’t mated.”

 

Sam, who had reappeared from whatever place him and Jess had meandered off to, poured himself a cup of coffee as he spoke. “He would, it’s incredibly disgusting.”

 

“That reminds me,” Erica said, and there was something hungry in her face as she said it, longing. “What’s it like? Being mated?”

 

Dean’s eyes glazed over a little in that stupidly content expression he had so much of the time now.

 

“Like being safe,” he said quietly. “Being home.”

 

Sam gasped quietly and froze where he was mixing the sugar into his coffee. He didn’t - his brother didn’t say shit like that, didn’t feel shit like that. Home and safe were things Dean had when he was four years old and hadn’t had since. To hear him say that made Sam so grateful towards Cas that it almost hurt. He knew better than anyone how paranoid - with good reason, but still - Dean was about trusting people.

 

Erica felt ready to throw up, she wanted that so badly.

 

Meanwhile, Stiles stared into the distance, totally not thinking about Derek. He was thinking about - pizza, yes, that’s right, pizza, that was totally what he was thinking about. The pizza he wanted to spend his life with, and have a mystical mates connections with, and would rather spend thirty seconds snarking back and forth with than getting laid by a pornstar.

 

 

That pizza.

 

-

 

Castiel was painstakingly carving a small piece of wood into the shape of an occult symbol when Stiles entered the pack house’s library. There were several other small wooden sculptures on the table in front of him, a delicate golden chain threaded through pinprick holes in them.

 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked. “Is it magic? Can I help?”

 

“Yes,” Cas said, gesturing towards a book beside him. “How good is your old English?”

 

“Surprisingly really good. When Lydia decided me and her had to learn a shit load of old languages, that was one of mine. Thought it would be easier than archaic German to start out with,” Stiles said.

 

“Would you look through this book for useful protection runes?” Cas asked.

 

“Sure,” Stiles said, settling in across from him and beginning to flip through the pages. He grabbed the notebook that had been set next to the book, ripping up a piece of paper into bookmarks.

 

It’s a comfortable quiet as they work, broken by Cas’ quiet incantations every once in a while, or the sound of a page being turned. There was eventually a tap on the open doorframe, and both Stiles and Cas raised their heads to see Sam.

 

“Hey, you mind if we come in?” Sam asked, grinning his puppy dog grin.

 

“Of course, Sam.”

 

Sam came in, Dean and Derek trailing in after him. Dean, predictably, immediately went for the chair beside Cas, and Derek held him back. They had a brief whispered conference that went rather like this:

 

“No, you can’t sit by him.”

 

“But I can sit by his feet right?”

 

“Dean, you’re not a _dog_.”

 

“Well, technically-”

 

“Dean.”

 

_“Fine.”_

 

Dean then tried to sit on top of the table directly in front of Cas, and Derek put on his best _why me_ expression before shoving Dean down in a chair next to Sam and sitting on his other side. Derek then noticed Stiles, and the _why me_ look intensified.

 

“How did you even know about this?” Derek asked.

 

Stiles put on his best innocent face - considering he never looked innocent, it only made Derek more suspicious - and shrugged. “Don’t even know what this is.”

 

Inside his head, he quietly prayed that Derek wouldn’t find out he was abusing the security system to spy on people. As it was, everyone thought that his spark powers were just giving him some kind of special intuition. Scott backed this up, because he’d thought Stiles was psychic since kindergarten (Stiles wasn’t, Scott was just adorably stupid). And sure, Stiles did have reliable gut reactions and always should be listened to because he was never wrong, but that didn’t mean he didn’t cheat.

 

Derek narrowed his eyes at the skip in Stiles’ heartbeat but dropped the subject, turning to speak to Cas.

 

“We’re here to talk with you officially about Dean being your mate. How you want him to be in your life, and even if you _do_ want him in your life.”

 

Dean stared at Castiel like Cas was an angel who’d pulled him out of hell, Stiles thought. Stiles then immediately mentally high fived himself, because that was a beautiful choice of words.

 

Castiel, who had briefly made eye contact with Derek and Sam but then had started making sweet tender eyeball lovings to Dean, nodded decisively.

 

“I have had time to think on it, and I believe that you would be a pleasant addition to my life,” Castiel gestured back towards where he had books piled on top of a desk. “All the texts say that you will be the best thing to ever happen to me. I’d like to see whether they’re right.”

 

Dean squirmed in his seat, very clearly attempting to not jump over the table and scent mark Castiel. Derek looked very obviously relieved - he’d only been putting off the talk because he wasn’t sure how Cas would react.

 

Stiles coughed a little. “So - you feel the mating bond too? When you met him, I mean, what did it feel like?”

 

Cas frowned, glancing down at his hands and the small half carved pentacle. He spoke after a long moment of silence.

 

“Before I met Dean, something was wrong and missing in my life, and I didn’t even know until I met him,” Cas said. “I tire less easily, my mind is sharper, and my hands surer. I’m certain that there are more symptoms, but it’s too early to tell conclusively.”

 

Derek watched Stiles, a sick feeling in his stomach. Stiles face was completely and utterly blank, like it was too much effort to reset into the smile he usually wore when he smelled this way. A deep, bitter smell that oozed from him, mixed with the familiar acrid scent of rejection and bile smell of regret.

 

The smile kicked in, a few seconds too late to be convincing.

 

“You should write up a section on mating bonds, in the werewolf notes you’ve been taking,” Stiles suggested. “I’m just gonna go take a walk, I’m sure you and Dean wanna talk alone.”

 

Derek twisted in his seat, frowning fiercely as Stiles slipped out the door. He waited until he heard him shut the front door before standing and leaving as well.

 

Sam sat awkwardly in the room as the staring got more and more intense.

 

“Cas,” he said. “Do you need me here?”

 

“Your presence is not required, no.”

 

“Oh, thank _god_ , bye, don’t have sex in the library, everyone will smell it,” Sam said, rushing out of the room.

 

Cas pulled a velvet lined box out of his pocket and carefully placed the charm necklace inside before shutting it and returning it to his coat. He then stood, leaving the room and heading down the hall to his bedroom. Dean followed him automatically, barely aware that they were moving until they’re inside Cas’ room and Dean is clicking the door shut.

 

They stared at each other for a little longer. Dean would never get tired of looking at Cas, at the real Cas, the Cas who was his and here and _wanted him._

 

“I believe kissing you would be pleasurable,” Cas announced. “Would you like to try it?”

 

Dean laughed and nodded, leaning forward to capture Cas’ lips, hands carefully cupping his mate’s face.

 

It’s not everything he’d dreamed - Cas is a terrible kisser, unsure on how to move his mouth, chapped lips rubbing awkwardly against Dean’s. But it’s perfect, and Dean pulls back to change the angle, shows him how to do it properly. It takes a few moments before they’re _really_ kissing.

 

When they come up for air, Dean is backed up against the wall and gasping for breath, smiling so hard he couldn’t kiss Cas right now if he tried.

 

The last time kissing someone had been anything but a prelude to sex, he’d been twelve years old and getting his first kiss in a game of Truth or Dare on the playground. But this - this wasn’t a prelude to sex.

 

This was a prelude to a lifetime of Cas, and he couldn’t ask for anything more.


	8. but i'm trying to hope with nothing to hold, i'm living on such sweet nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, couple of things: i'm truly sorry for the amount of angst you're about to encounter. Also, you may have noticed that the chapter count has changed - that's because apparently while I was writing, I decided that there should be no chapter 10 or 9 and that immediately after chapter 8 I should name the next chapter 'chapter 11'. I could have split up this chapter I guess to stick with the fourteen chapter thing, but I really like it the way it is. 
> 
> chapter title from [Sweet Nothing by Calvin Harris ft. Florence Welch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NnIzbukJOHQ)

Stiles sucked in harsh breaths, curled up under his favorite willow tree with the bark digging into his forehead. He was in his private “LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE” area, the one the pack knew they weren’t allowed to come into. He was trying desperately not to cry.

 

He had tried so hard, at first, to push Derek out of his life - hell, out of _life_ in general. What else was he supposed to do? Derek made him feel… _right,_ made him not feel like shit. Stiles _deserved_ to feel like shit. That was only fair. It was his fault his Mom died, and Derek was fucking up his penance.

 

And if he overplayed his flaws, if he ‘fell in love’ with a girl a thousand times out of his league that he would never have a chance with and set himself up for rejection from her constantly, if his best friend had the tendency to put himself first in all things, if Stiles didn’t let his Dad hug him more than twice a week, if he used relationships the way other kids used razor blades… well, that was his own business.

 

He’d hoped, for a while, that Derek felt the same way. Still did, with a small part of his heart that pulsed painfully every time he thought of him. If he didn’t hope at all, it would be better. Cleaner.

 

Stiles wanted Derek so much, _needed_ him so much that the only justice in the world would be that Derek felt the same way. And he hated it - he’d finally found the perfect way to punish himself and fuck if he didn’t want to anymore.

 

And the mates thing? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that Stiles had thought about how it might apply to his situation. Because he’d researched, oh, he’d researched, and there were only three options.

 

      1)    Derek didn’t want him, even though they had a mystical mates bond. This was the most likely, and Stiles could see it easily. It was present in the way that Derek would look disgusted when he realized he was touching Stiles, the way he would show up and skulk around Stiles’ room, taking deep breaths and wincing like they burned his lungs.

 

      2)    There _is_ a mystical mates bond, but it’s dysfunctional and only Stiles felt it. This seemed like something that the universe would do to him, though he could find no evidence of it ever happening ever.

 

      3)    There is no mystical mates bond, and he’s just an idiot looking for something that wasn’t there and never will be. (This was his least favorite option.)

 

Stiles started crying, or maybe he’d started a while ago and hadn’t noticed, but either way he was alone.

 

-

 

Derek was curled up on a 17 year old’s bed, face shoved into a pillow, body starfished to mark as much of the area as possible.

 

He was _pathetic._

 

But pathetic or not, he was too busy trying to scrub Stiles’ wrong-scent out of his nose and face out of his head to focus on haranguing himself for breaking into Stiles’ house again. He needed to get that scent and expression out of his head, because if he can’t pretend that Stiles doesn’t want him then he was fucking screwed.

 

If he acknowledged that Stiles wanted him then his instincts would triple at the very least, would _scream_ at him and - Erica was talking about them going to Jungle to get him laid Friday, _fuck._

 

Derek took another deep breath through his nose, but it was getting hard to do it when it was filling with tears. He felt like he was drowning, so he flipped over onto his back and let out a shaking sob.

 

It hurt, God, he didn’t know anything could _hurt_ so much.

 

Before today he didn’t even know that humans could feel the mating bond. He didn’t _want_ to know that, didn’t want to deal with the reality of what that meant. Because ignoring everything else, Stiles deserved better.

 

He deserved someone who could love him with a whole heart and not a shattered one, deserved someone healthy and sane, deserved someone who didn’t scream their way awake most days, who hadn’t caused the death of innocent _children._ Stiles? Stiles deserved the best.

 

And Derek?  


He wasn’t even close.

 

-

 

The next day, Stiles and Cas were hard at work doing magic-y thingies. Well, it was hardly work when you could wrap yourself in a blanket and pretend to be Hermione studying for finals.

 

 _Magic_ finals.

 

They were in the library, which had become the unofficial Special Magic Testing Room.

 

Castiel was still carving out runes for the necklace, though he hadn’t said who it was for yet. Stiles saw a spell for fireproofing people (witches had to survive the middle ages _somehow_ ) and immediately knew what he was about to do.

 

“Help me do this spell?” he asked Cas. Cas nodded and set aside a just-finished rune.

 

“We need something to represent Derek,” Stiles said quietly. He thought about it for a minute before remembering the wolf figurine they’d fire proofed. It had a nice symmetry to it, so he got up and grabbed it from the bookshelf they’d set it on.

 

Cas walked over to the windowsill, where a cooling rack covered in various herbs stood. They’d just begun to dry out yesterday, after Cas had gathered all of them and brought them inside. Stiles watched as Castiel gathered white heather and witch hazel, then turned to his pile of different woods and selected juniper.

 

First they burned the juniper wood, a small controlled flame in a bowl. Derek didn’t come running in, which meant he was probably making lunch in the kitchen or something and couldn’t smell it over the food. Stiles was grateful and made a note to himself to air out the room and spray febreeze after they were done. When the wood was burning bright and hot, they laid the white heather and witch hazel in it as well.

 

They waited a little bit then, and when everything was ash Castiel mixed it up in the bowl and grabbed a pop bottle that they had filled with river water.

 

He dumped a fair amount of the water into the bowl, mixing it up while speaking quietly. “As the river protects the forest from a spreading fire, let this protect Alpha Derek Hale.”

 

The paste spun on its own for a few minutes, almost like it was thinking, and then turned from the sooty gray it had been to a sparkly viscous white. Sort of like unicorn jizz.

 

Stiles thanked Castiel, grabbed the bowl, and rushed downstairs to the kitchen.

 

As he had predicted, Derek was hovering over a large pot of soup and simultaneously making biscuits, cutting out the dough with a glass into perfect little circles.

 

“Derek, I need to rub this-” Stiles gestured to the bowl, out of breath and face red from excitement. “-all over your body. Right now.”

 

Later, most of the disappointment in himself would stem from the fact that it didn’t strike him at all that anything he’d just said was inappropriate. Even as he held a glass bowl of what, for all the world, looked like cum he’d mixed glitter into. As he stood there. Flushed bright red. _Panting._

 

Erica was laughing so hard it looked like it was physically hurting her, scrambling to take a picture of Derek’s face because that expression needed to be recorded. It was some strange mix of confusion and lust and hope and more confusion.

 

Derek made a strangled noise, starting to stink of arousal.

 

Erica uploaded the picture to twitter.

 

Stiles frowned. “The hell is wrong with you two? Look, Derek, do you want to be fireproof or not?”

 

Derek snapped out of it, feeling sort of disappointed because yes, of _course_ that wasn’t Stiles’ cum and Stiles wasn’t offering to mark him as his mate. But also wildly pained at how much he loved Stiles right then, that Stiles got magic and the first things he did with it was address Derek’s very reasonable fear of burning to death like his family had.

 

So he handed his spatula to Erica - who was still giggling uncontrollably - and followed Stiles to his own ensuite bathroom.

 

Stiles coughed uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck and staring at the ceiling. “So, uh, for this to work it kinda has to go everywhere.”

 

Derek nodded, and held out his hand for the canister.

 

“And I um. Sort of have to be the one to apply it?” Stiles winced as the words tripped out too quick and one after another. “I mean, it has to go everywhere you want to be fireproof, but that could lead to some very nasty burns in very nasty places and you know what, this was a bad-”

 

“Stiles.” Derek said firmly. Stiles stopped talking.

 

Derek took off his clothing quickly, with practiced ease. How he’d grown up, nudity wasn’t a big deal - it was just something that happened sometimes. Wolves didn’t wear clothes, after all.

 

-

 

God, Derek was right in front of him, naked, and he was going to get to _touch him. Everywhere._

 

He _had_ to be dreaming.

 

Except no, he totally wasn’t, because if he was dreaming this would have a much happier ending than anything Stiles could picture right now. Taking a deep breath, he opened the jar and stuck his fingers into the goop.

 

-

 

He’d avoided Derek’s… _junk_ as long as possible. It was inevitable that he would come to it though - and as the one with the spark, he was the one who needed to apply it. He would not let there be even a possibility of Derek’s dick being so much as _singed._ That would qualify as like - a, a war crime. An extra thousand years of Karmic debt. Worthy of being _left alone with Peter_ on the full moon _._

 

Stiles took a deep breath - oh, _bad_ idea, he now knew what Derek’s dick smelled like, he’d never be able to unlearn that, _fuck,_ and it was somehow just what he’d expected - and scooped out some paste with his fingertips.

 

-

 

Derek squeezed his eyes shut, forced his hands to stay open and relaxed. He focused on his breathing, and not the gentle, thorough touch of Stiles’ fingers. He could feel himself beginning to harden and the breath he took in turned harsh on its way into his throat. Derek ignored it, counted to ten, thought about Laura and the way her eyes looked when he last saw them, glazed over and unblinking and empty as they caught the moonlight. He focused on the sharp, salty smell of the cream, overpowering in his nose to the point where he couldn’t even smell Stiles.

 

-

 

Stiles was pathetic.

 

He knew that Derek wasn’t in to him, but there was something about Derek not even getting hard that was … almost offensive. If he’d ever wanted confirmation, this was it. This was worse than a rejection, actually. A rejection he could pretend there was still a chance, that Derek was just being emotionally constipated.  This was a firm - limp - refusal of everything he felt.

 

After what felt like ages but was probably not very long at all, Stiles stood and gave Derek one last once over, checking for gaps in the goop.

 

There were none, so he placed a hand on Derek’s chest, concentrated, and _shoved_ all the power he could through his palm and into Derek.

 

-

 

Stiles placed a hand on Derek’s chest, and Derek barely kept in the sigh of relief. It was almost over then.

  
Stiles closed his eyes, clearly concentrating. For a moment, Derek felt something ghost along his body, huge and unfathomable and powerful and burning.

 

Then Stiles took his hand back, and Derek thought that he must have imagined it.

 

“It has to sit for five minutes, then you need to wash it off with running water - the shower should work fine, just don’t use a washcloth or anything.” Stiles said, voice strained and the lines of his body tired.

 

Then he left, and Derek was alone.

 

-

 

Dean was sitting propped up on pillows in Cas’ bedroom (now his as well, he rubbed himself all over the walls to make it smell like him and now it was _his too that’s how that works),_ arm around Cas and laptop on his thighs.

 

“So there’s this guy named Chuck,” Dean started, pulling up Netflix. “He accesses an alternate universe in his dreams, focused around me and Sam and you. He’s got a book series about it, and it got turned into a TV show.”

 

“That’s fascinating,” Cas said, and Dean could see that he was about to burst into a thousand question about the particulars and quite possibly request Chuck’s contact information.

 

“Anyways,” Dean said hastily, before any of that could happen. He clicked on Supernatural and started playing season 4, episode 1. “This is the episode where we meet. Other-me had made a demon deal and was in hell. Other-you got other-me out.”

 

“I believe that is a spoiler,” Cas said gravely, disapprovingly.

 

Dean pressed a kiss to Castiel’s temple in apology.

 

They settled in to watch the episode together, Dean mouthing along with the familiar lines.

 

“This feels… familiar,” Cas said near the end of the episode, frowning.

 

Dean grinned. “I know, right?”

 

“I think I.” Cas frowned. “I think I dreamed this.”

 

“Really?” Dean asked.

 

The barn door opened on screen, and Cas spoke along with other-Cas, mimicking other-Cas’ motions.

 

“Holy fuck,” Dean said quietly. He felt like he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was, but it just…

 

It wasn’t that he’d needed confirmation, or anything, he knew who Cas was and _what_ he was to him, but it was different. Seeing that Cas and other-Cas - the two, but sort of one, greatest loves of his life were… the same.

 

“Are you implying you wish to fornicate?” Cas asked, deadpan, squinting at Dean.

 

Dean laughed and laughed and laughed, and Cas wore the smuggest little pleased grin Dean had ever seen.

 

-

 

The next couple of days were magical.

 

Full of research and translating which, ugh, painful, except no wait - it was _magic_ research and Stiles would never be bored of it. (The translating still sucked balls though.) He had never in his life felt closer to Hermione Granger than he did sitting hunched over old tomes and typing up the spells to add to his grimoire. His laptop grimoire, which happened to exist on Google docs, dropbox, his external hard drive, and his regular hard drive.

 

It was amazing, and it should have been one of the best times of his life. It would have been, if it wasn’t for Dean and Cas.

 

Don’t get him wrong, he loved the couple. He could easily see himself becoming good friends with them. There was only one roadblock in the way of their blossoming new buddyhood.

 

He could barely stand to be in the same room when Dean and Cas were together, which was always.

 

They were just... so _happy._ Dean would stare at Cas like he was the world to him, and Cas would stare back like he’d rather burn every single one of his books than be parted from Dean for more than an hour or two. Stiles was man enough to admit that he was jealous.

 

He was jealous of the way Dean would blush and duck his head when Cas would thread their fingers together. He was jealous of the casual way Cas would peck Dean on the lips, of the happy little sigh Cas made when Dean snuck up and nuzzled the back of his neck before massaging his shoulders.

 

And he could deal with it (just barely), but it would be better if Derek hadn’t … well, if Derek hadn’t stopped. Just stopped everything.

 

He’d stopped the random cuddle sessions (that were Stiles’ very reason for being some days), stopped sniffing Stiles the usual amount (in fact, he’d started holding his breath for extended periods of time while in the same room), and talked to Stiles less than he did after Stiles would play bait in the latest supernatural crisis. He didn’t even _glare_ at Stiles.

 

It hurt. The deep seated hope in his chest is being pulled out with hands made of acid, and he could barely breathe through how much he needed Derek to just… to even just yell at him again.

 

God, but he was pathetic.

 

And Dean and Castiel and their perfect fucking utopia of matey-mc-materkins?

 

Not helping.

 

-

 

Derek had, hands down, the best bathroom. It wasn’t that the other three bathtubs had anything wrong with them, it was that Derek had a Jacuzzi. And Stiles’ day so far had been shit, utter and complete shit, so he thought that he was entitled to fill it with gingerbread scented bubbles and soak in it for an unreasonably long time.

 

Alone. He thought he was entitled to soak in it _alone._

 

“Erica for the last time-”

 

“I’m coming in and you can’t stop me,” she said.

 

Stiles groaned and closed his eyes. “You’re invading my privacy.”

 

“It’s not like we haven’t done it before,” Erica pointed out.

 

“We were _high._ This is different.”

 

“It’s really not, you just feel like you _have_ to be awkward because you’re not high,” Erica said, clambering in.

 

“I hate you,” Stiles said. Erica snorted and shoved a handful of bubbles into his face.

 

“So sleepover at my place or yours?” she asked.

 

“Who says I wanna do a sleepover?” he said, just to be contrary.

 

Erica rolled her eyes and started sculpting a bubble pyramid. He sighed and started making one too.

 

“My house,” he finally said. “Dad’s working the nightshift and your dad has a creepy habit of looming in the hallway in the middle of the night.”

 

“Plus we can’t cuddle there,” Erica said agreeably. “I already told the pack to stay away so we should be good.”

 

“Cool,” Stiles picked up a handful of bubbles and after staring at it consideringly, slapped Erica in the face with it.

 

She gaped at him for a moment. “Oh, it is fucking _on.”_

 

-

 

They settled on Stiles’ bed with Parks and Recreation on his laptop and the obligatory six tons of junk food later that night.

 

“So, out with it,” Erica said, licking out the filling of an oreo as Stiles laughed at Tom getting arrested.

 

“With what?” he said warily, even though he was pretty sure he knew what she was going to ask him. He chewed on his hot pocket pensively.

 

“C’mon, you know. Why do you keep staring at Dean and Cas like they tore out your heart and are stomping on it?”

 

Stiles sighed. “I do no such thing,” he said, for appearance’s sakes.

 

Erica ate another Oreo and waited.

 

“It’s just - okay, you know that thing I may or may not have for Derek?”

 

“Oh you mean how you’re absolutely, disgustingly in love with him?”

 

“Lies!” Stiles sputtered. He paused for a moment and took another bite of his hot pocket. “But yes, that thing.”

 

He sighed. “I dunno Erica, it’s… I asked Cas how it felt when he met Dean and, well, I think that…”

 

“You’re his mate? Duh,” Erica said nonchalantly. “Everyone can smell it.”

 

“And no one thought that it would be a good idea to like, mention it to me?” Stiles yelled. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. Yeah. So that outs option number three.”

 

“Options?” Erica asked.

 

“Yeah, three was that I was making it up and wasn’t really his mate. So either he can feel it and just doesn’t want me, or it’s dysfunctional and only I can feel it.”

 

Erica snorted and reached for the twizzlers. “Stiles, please. First of all, when Derek gave us the mates talk he made it really clear that there’s no such thing as ‘dysfunctional’ bonds. The human, if one of you is human, doesn’t feel it quite as strongly, sure. But it’s always there.”

 

“Great,” Stiles said, slouching. So it was option one then.

 

“Nuh uh, no looking sad,” Erica said. “He _wants_ you, he does. He’s just an enormous ball of man pain.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Stiles snorted.

 

She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll bet you.”

 

“Bet me what?” Stiles said.

 

“When you _do_ get together, you have to give me a sex tape,” Erica said smugly.

 

“And what if we _never_ get together?” Stiles said, exasperated. “And shouldn’t there be some kind of time limit on this?”

 

“I’ll buy you any lingerie you want. And I won’t even make you show me,” Erica said.

 

Stiles sighed. He was still nervous that if he went to Victoria’s Secret his dad would hear about it and he’d have to have a conversation about how no, really, the pack wasn’t an orgy thing, and no, really, he did not need to have the talk with everyone in the pack _again_ oh god _do not bring Melissa into this._

 

“Deal. It expires at the end of the summer.”

 

“End of the first semester,” Erica said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s already July.”

 

“Fine, fine, whatever.”

 

They settled down and watched a couple of episodes of Parks and Recreation before Erica spoke again. Stiles winced when her mouth opened in a way that clearly didn’t mean she was about to inhale her third snickers bar.

 

“Do you even _want_ to get laid at your birthday party?”

 

Stiles sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Yes-no-maybe? I have to get over him. I mean, I don’t think I will, ever, that’s kind of part of being mates, but I at least have to _try.”_

 

“Aww,” Erica said, grinning smugly. “You wanna save your V card for Derek.”

 

Stiles could feel his cheeks start to burn. “Shut up.”

 

Erica settled her head on his shoulder. “That’s pathetic; you didn’t even try and lie to me.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “Yeah, I know.”

 

-

 

Dean became aware of how he was rocking his hips against Cas’ thigh at the same time he realized that Cas wasn’t doing the same.

 

He pulled back from Cas, frowning a little. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yes,” Cas said, but there was an edge of discomfort to his tone.

 

Dean scooched off Cas immediately, but kept their fingers threaded together. He waited patiently for Cas to tell him what was wrong.

 

“I’m demisexual,” Cas said, wincing a little as he said the words. “At least, I think I am. I could just be asexual.”

 

Dean frowned. “Like... gods and plants?”

 

Cas shook his head. “I don’t feel sexual attraction.”

 

“Oh,” Dean said, processing this. “That’s weird. I mean, you’re not weird. You are, but - I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?”

 

“A little bit,” Cas said, kissing the corner of Dean’s mouth.

 

“Sorry,” Dean said, ducking his head. “I’m - you know I love you, right? I can wait until you want to.”

 

“And if I never want to?” Cas asked, looking a bit nervous.

 

Dean grinned and pressed a kiss to Cas’ fingers. “I’ve had a _lot_ of practice with my right hand; I think I’ll be okay.”

 

He paused for a moment, just tracing Cas’ features with his eyes. “You know, this right here, you… it’s more than I ever expected having with someone. And that’s so much more important to me than anything we could do in bed.”

 

“Dean Winchester,” Cas said very seriously. “You are the best man I have ever known-”

 

“You’ve only known some really shitty men then,” Dean snorted, rolling his eyes.

 

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Dean Winchester. You are the best man I’ve ever known, even if I have not known you for long, and I am blessed to have met you and to have you.”

 

“Aw shucks, Mr. Novak, you’re making me blush,” Dean said sarcastically to cover the way he was actually blushing.

 

Cas gave him a look that made it clear he saw straight through his bullshit. “Would you like to kiss more?”

 

Dean grinned. “Yeah, yeah I would.”

 

-

 

Mason stared down at the bottle in his hands, glaring at the refill date.

 

“Liam!” he called.

 

Liam appeared in the doorway faster than he should have been able to. “What?”

 

“Why is this bottle full?” Mason asked threateningly, shaking the Geodon in Liam’s face.

 

“Uh,” Liam said nervously.

 

“Have you not been taking your meds?” Mason said. “We talked about this!”

 

“It’s… they make me tired,” Liam said uncomfortably. “I can’t play as well, my grades go down-”

 

“Yes, and you don’t destroy people’s cars or beat your classmates half to death,” Mason said. “You’re taking them if I have to shove them down your throat.”

 

Liam’s eyes flashed golden and he growled. It would have been more menacing if Mason wasn’t ignoring him completely and heading to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

 

“Here, take it,” Mason said, handing the glass of water to Liam.

 

Liam took it, still growling half heartedly, as if he’d ever hurt Mason.

 

“Open your mouth,” Mason said firmly.

 

Liam pressed his lips together into a thin line.

 

“C’mon, open up.”

 

Liam shook his head mutely.

 

Mason sighed. “I didn’t want to do this.”

 

Mason stared at Liam very seriously. “Liam, anchovies on pineapple pizza are delicious.

 

“Now, I know you don’t agree with me on this, just like you don’t agree with me that lacrosse is a bullshit unpopular irrelevant sport-”

 

“Hey, back the fu-” Liam started, outraged.

 

Mason took the chance to shove the pill into Liam’s mouth and snatch the water out of Liam’s hands and start pouring it into his mouth while pinching his friend’s nose.

 

Liam sputtered but swallowed the pill and Mason put the water down and removed his hand to fist pump.

 

“Hah! I win,” he said smugly.

 

“You - you!” Liam sputtered, water dribbling down his chin and some hitting Mason in the face. “Take what you said back!”

 

“You know I didn’t mean it,” Mason said, rubbing Liam’s back apologetically.

 

(He did mean it.)

 

Liam huffed but punched Mason on the shoulder anyways, the sign of ‘apology accepted my fair fellow’.

 

Mason winced. “Fuck, ow.”

 

“Oh, sorry,” Liam said immediately, pushing Mason’s shirt sleeve up so that he could inspect the skin. It was already starting to bruise. “Forgot how much stronger I am now.”

 

“It’s cool,” Mason said easily. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

 

“So wanna help me revamp my workout so that it’s challenging?” Liam asked, bouncing a little on his heels.

 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Mason said, grinning.

 

-

 

It took a couple of hours at the gym before Liam was anything even approaching tired, and Mason had been sweaty and wanting a shower for quite a while.

 

“Liam, not that watching you be a superhero for three and a half hours hasn’t been fun,” Mason said patiently, for the third time. “but I would really like to go home and eat Pringles now.”

 

“Yeah, I sort of want to eat everything in the house,” Liam admitted, _finally_ slowing down the treadmill and getting off.

 

“Yes,” Mason hissed quietly. Liam rolled his eyes.

 

They had walked to the gym because it was only a few blocks away, but those blocks might as well have been miles at this point for Liam. He looked so pathetic by the end of the walk that Mason let him take the Xbox remote that lit up.

 

They played Soul Caliber 5 together for a while before Mason finally said something.

 

“You’re fucking cheating, aren’t you?” he said, after the sixth match he’d lost.

 

“No,” Liam said, but he was grinning like a lunatic so Mason didn’t believe him.

 

“You _suck_ at this game!” Mason said. “That’s why we’re playing it, so I can kick your ass to make up for the most boring visit to the gym ever!”

 

“Hey, I thought you were having fun!” Liam protested, looking a little hurt.

 

“I was. For a little while,” Mason said, rolling his eyes. “But it’s really boring to spot for someone who _never has to stop._ ”

 

“I stopped!” Liam protested.

 

Mason narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Totally. Stopped so much.”

 

Liam narrowed his eyes back, tilting his head in consideration. Then he lunged forward, knocking the controller out of Mason’s hands.

 

“Mercy! Mercy!” Mason yelped, attempting to wiggle away from Liam’s tickling fingers.

 

“No such thing!” Liam crowed.

 

Mason shrieked with laughter, and Liam flat out screeched when Mason got in a position to take revenge.

 

-

 

The concrete floor of the room was getting increasingly crowded.

 

It was covered in people no one would miss, some from Beacon Hills, some drifters, some single and unattached loners.

 

They snapped at each other with sharp teeth, growled out short words as they fought for the scraps of raw meat their Alpha threw into the room periodically. The newer arrivals just sat chained to the wall and cried - quiet, heaving sobs that turned to frantic pants when it was their time to be taken. The place stunk of terror and piss and shit and vomit, but most of them didn’t mind. They had gotten used to it, nose blind to the disgusting scents.

 

Outside, the moon shone down on the town, a week and a half until it would be at its peak.


	9. don't get too close (i need to let you go)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: so if you're sensitive about dean/other or stiles/other it might be best for you to read the spoilery end notes for this chapter so you know what you're getting into! otherwise there's just some good old fashioned angst _because there is no god_
> 
> chapter title is from [Demons by Imagine Dragons](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CCIQtwIwAQ&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DUtEvhnkYzlI&ei=52gyVc2sJdjnoAStjYCYAg&usg=AFQjCNE8yzH4FcTK6g4hqhI8beoEif8cZw&sig2=x3fGSpY1_smRXpaLfEhXPg)

“No, kid, seriously, do you have _anything_ in here that fits you right?” Dean said scornfully, tossing aside another t-shirt.

 

“Define fit?” Stiles asked sheepishly. He was starting to regret allowing Dean and Erica into his home.

 

It was a familiar feeling, heightened by it being his _birthday._ If it was up to him, he’d have changed his mind about going to Jungle and stayed home curled up on his bed with Erica and maybe Boyd or Allison, heckling bad horror movies on Netflix and when they were genuinely scary pretending that they were clutching at each other in _mock_ fear.

 

Dean rolled his eyes and stripped off his jacket. “Like this. Does anything fit you like this?”

 

Stiles tried not to ogle, he really did, but Dean was attractive, and he could see the outline of his stomach muscles through the thin cotton t-shirt. It took him a moment to see what it said.

 

“Hot, queer and here to drink your beer?” Stiles snorted.

 

“Me in a nutshell.” Dean grinned.

 

“As amusing as this has been, you should open my present to you. I know we said we’d wait till after Jungle, but this should go first,” Erica said, eyes gleaming. She reached inside her purse (which didn’t look nearly as massive as it was on the inside, you could get lost in there) and pulled out a wrapped bundle with a sloppy bow on top.

 

Stiles accepted the present gingerly, half thinking it would explode. It seemed safe enough on closer inspection, and he sat down on the bed to open it.

 

The first thing he saw was red. He pulled out the vest and shook it out, looking at it. It had a hood and black crescent moon buttons. The tank top underneath was black as well, with red lettering that matched the color of the vest.

 

“Can you knot?” Stiles said, suppressing the urge to giggle because he was a manly man and manly men did not make giggle noises.

 

“I knew you would appreciate it,” Erica said proudly. “I got you skinny jeans too and -”

 

“Erica!” Stiles said, stroking the silky material of the black and red lacy boyshorts. He stood up to hug her. “You’re the best.”

 

She rubbed her face on his neck a little before pulling back. “Okay, now you get dressed.”

 

Then she stood there, watching expectantly.

 

Stiles raised his eyebrows pointedly.

 

Erica made a ‘who, me?’ face but turned around. When Stiles glanced at Dean he was tapping away on his phone, not paying Stiles the slightest attention. He’d bet good money that he was texting Cas.

 

He cast one last suspicious glance at Erica - who was ‘messing with her makeup’ using a pocket mirror. He sighed, because honestly this was the most privacy he was going to get.

 

Stiles got undressed as quickly as he could without injuring himself, turning his back to Erica before slipping his batman boxers off and the boyshorts on. There was a slow wolf whistle as he wiggled the skinny jeans up his ass, and he flailed, almost falling over before Dean caught him.

 

“You’re gonna brain yourself on the wall if you’re not careful,” Dean said easily, steadying him with firm hands like he wasn’t the one that startled him in the first place.

 

Stiles zipped up the jeans quickly, whole body flushed with an awkward mix of automatic attraction and embarrassment. “I’m just gonna finish -” he gestured towards the tank top and vest laid out on the bed.

 

“‘Course,” Dean said, grinning at him, face the same easy feel of expectancy that Erica had had.

 

Erica had turned around and was watching them with that scary considering expression that usually meant she was about to use Photoshop to do dirty things. If he got another detention from Finstock because she’d shoved twenty copies of the finished product in his gym locker and they got everywhere, he’d kill her.

 

Muttering under his breath about perverts, Stiles pulled on the rest of the clothes, doing up most of the buttons on the vest.

 

“How do I look?” he asked, twitching nervously - partially because he knew he probably looked halfway to shit and he was about to force them to lie to him, but mostly because Erica looked like she was going to eat him.

 

He honestly couldn’t tell if it was in a sexy way or if her blood sugar was just low.

 

“Holy shit, kid,” Dean said admiringly, giving Stiles a once over that made him flush. “If I ever wanted to fuck anyone but Cas, I’d rim you until you cried.”

 

Thus followed at least three minutes of the hands down sexiest thing Stiles had ever experienced (barring anything involving Derek, as was only fair, since most things involving Derek ended up being the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced). Dean detailed exactly what he’d do to Stiles with an increasingly smug grin.

 

Somewhere around the bit where Dean was explaining exactly how he would finger Stiles and what it would feel like, Erica’s free hand (the other was holding her phone as it recorded) started to unbutton her pants.

 

Just as Erica unzipped them and started to shove her hand inside her underwear, there was a burst of repeated honks from outside the building.

 

“Shit,” she cursed, groaning as she quickly fixed her pants and quit recording. “My vagina hates you, Derek!” she yelled, stomping over to the window to give him the finger.

 

Derek hit the horn again, and Stiles tried to figure out how he was supposed to cope with that many compliments - _sexy_ compliments - in such a short span of time. Dean winked at him, humming under his breath as he pulled his jacket back on and clomped down the stairs.

 

“You need to read erotic fiction, Dean,” Erica said, darting after him. “I’ll pay you.”

 

“Huh. Never thought about that.”

 

“With _money,”_ Erica emphasized.

 

Stiles waddled after them, dick uncomfortable but not quite as uncomfortable as the knowledge that he was about to sit in a car with Derek while he had a boner. That wasn’t as novel of an event as he’d care to pretend, but he hated the intensely uncomfortable and trapped look on Derek’s face whenever it happened. Which was often. Because fuck his life.

 

_Think of Greenberg naked._

 

“I saw your birthday’s coming up on the calendar. 19, right? I’ll have to ask Cas if he’s okay with it, but I used to do some amateur porn. I can give you the videos,” Dean said casually.

 

Fuck, that was not helping his boner.

 

 _Finstock naked._ he thought desperately, stepping out the front door and following the others to the Camaro.

 

“Shotgun!” Erica yelled, but not before pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “Also, you’re my new favorite.”

 

Derek glared out the window directly at Stiles, which, whoa, that much eye contact after such a long time without any was making his cock do little happy twitches.

 

 _Finstock and Greenburg naked._ Stiles thought, walking towards the car as slowly as possible. _Together._

 

 

Oh God.

 

Yeah, that did the trick.

 

Stiles spun in a circle, flapping his arms about in an attempt to get the scent of arousal off himself as much as possible before getting in the car. Dean looked at him pityingly.

 

“You were leaking precum,” he said slowly. “The smell is trapped in your pants.”

 

_Shit._

 

“Hey Alpha,” Stiles said, grinning awkwardly. Derek had let up the glaring for just a second when the wind shifted, blowing Stiles’ scent straight into his window, but it just intensified if anything after that. A little bit of fang popped out and Stiles wasn’t close enough, but he thought that Derek might have clawed his steering wheel.

 

“Shit, shit, shit, he’s gonna kill me and it’s _your fault,”_ Stiles said, ducking his head and making quick strides to the car. At this point he wasn’t sure if he was talking to Dean, the wind, his dick, or God.

 

Then he was in the backseat, with Derek very pointedly not looking at him, head almost stuck outside the window as he attempted to breathe untainted air. Dean slid in beside him, pulling out his phone to text someone.

 

Stiles frowned when his phone vibrated against his hip, and he dug his phone out, having to slouch and spread his legs to get enough room to get his hand in his pocket. He’d be using the vest pockets, then. Derek made a whining noise, looking exquisitely unhappy as he breathed through his mouth.

 

Dean, 10:06: _oh, he doesn’t want to kill you, trust me. If anyone he’s going to go after me_

 

Stiles frowned down at the text.

 

Stiles, 10:06: _p sure he does dude, he popped his fangs at me he got so mad_

 

Dean had a very quiet laughing fit, pounding his fist to his leg. Derek looked back at them suspiciously (and _angrily)_ , and Erica pulled out her phone.

 

Erica, 10:07: _what the hell is going on back there_

 

Stiles, 10:07: _dean finds it funny that derek wants to rip my throat out_

Stiles, 10:07: _with his teeth_

 

Erica, 10:08: _why do you always say it like that?? and no he doesn’t he wants to fuck you_

 

Stiles, 10:08: _WAHT_

Stiles, 10:08: _STOP BAITING MY FRAGILE HEART_

 

Erica smirked over her shoulder at Stiles and tapped her nose. Stiles made a disbelieving face.

 

Erica, 10:08: _trust me_

Erica, 10:09: _the nose knows_

 

Stiles rolled his eyes and put his phone away. Erica shrugged, as if to say _fine, be that way._ Derek steadily ignored all of them, looking about as disappointed and homicidal as he had when Allison and Scott got high and had sex in his bed.

 

Dean was still laughing.

 

-

 

When they got in sight of Jungle, Dean saw the end of the line and just kept going, even though the others had stopped to wait patiently.

 

They trailed after him, Stiles and Erica sounding and smelling unsure, Derek just the usual amount of _‘might as well, not like I have control over my life anymore anyways’._

 

“Benny!” Dean said when he saw his friend, clasping hands with him and bro-hugging, then releasing each other’s hands and regular hugging.

 

It had been a long time since he’d seen Benny, having met him down in Vegas when he worked a case where magicians were dying under some hella suspicious circumstances. Not that Benny was a magician - no, he was a bodyguard to one.

 

“You look good, brother,” Benny drawled. “What you been up to?”

 

-

 

Dean and Benny were chatting, but Erica only had eyes for Gadreel.

 

Benny had been Gadreel’s bodyguard before they moved to northern California - Benny had gotten a case of homesickness for the forests and the ocean, both things which Beacon Hills had plenty of. Stiles had been more than a little star struck when he first met Gadreel - he’d gone through a phase, okay, and Gadreel’s slight of hand and illusion work was _amazing_ \- and Erica had immediately fallen in love with how in love with each other Benny and Gadreel were.

 

“Ms. Reyes, I was waiting for you so I could deliver this invitation,” Gadreel said, bowing a little. He snapped his fingers and an envelope appeared.

 

“Oh my God!” Erica squealed, capturing Gadreel’s hand. “Is that a ring?!”

 

Gadreel smiled. “Please, take the envelope.”

 

Erica did, bouncing happily.

 

Stiles was busy watching Dean and Benny, who were being the special kind of gay you only found in the bestest of friends. Dean was all but complimenting how lovely Benny’s rugged facial hair was, and in return Benny seemed close to commenting on the becomingness of Dean’s manly stubble.

 

“Go on in, we’ll catch you when our shifts are over,” Benny finally said, one last friendly slap on Dean’s shoulder.

 

Stiles’ observation of two such Manly Men in their natural habitat was cut short by Jackson’s indignant voice.

 

“You were gonna leave us behind!” he shouted accusingly, shoving Stiles on the shoulder a little. Stiles stumbled back into Erica, who was still fawning over Gadreel’s ring.

 

“Yes, we were,” Derek said flatly.

 

Jackson squawked.

 

“Now let’s go in before I die of old age,” Derek continued, turning to head into the club.

 

“Seconded,” Stiles said, darting in after him.

 

He headed for the bar immediately, mostly because he wasn’t drunk enough to deal with life. He’d filled out quite a bit since his first visit, and even though he was still firmly in twink territory, his fake ID got him drinks now. He ordered a few shots of tequila, because if he was going to get shitfaced he wanted to do it as fast as possible.

 

It’s not that he was upset or anything - okay, it was exactly that. Derek was here, and actively encouraging - as much as he ever actively encouraged anything, he was mostly not just loudly expressing disapproval and threatening Stiles - him screwing a stranger. It was only worse because he knew how possessive werewolves were of their partners.

 

Not in a creepy way, but they want _everyone_ to know who they’re with and that they belong to each other. Scott and Allison wore matching necklaces because they’re _disgustingly cute_ and because Allison was the only one who could get hickies. Stiles had listened to many a moaning about how upset Scott was that he couldn’t get hickies that lasted for more than five minutes unless an Alpha gave it to him, which wasn’t an option for _so many reasons._ The first time he saw her without all the cover up on after they got together, he ran into a door because he thought she’d been _mauled._

 

Not for the first time, he questioned whether the bond really _was_ dysfunctional between them. Or maybe Derek was so traumatized after everything that happened that he was disgusted by the idea of being in a relationship again. It wasn’t out of the question, at least.

 

Stiles’ plan - which was admittedly not that much of a plan in the first place - backfired spectacularly. The drag queens had found him and were shielding his drunk ass from someone getting all up on him because _‘he’d regret it in the morning’,_ whatever the fuck _that_ meant. There was no morning, there was only now and alcohol and a stripper pole that had somehow become alarmingly close to his body.

 

Gabriel, the owner of Jungle, had a few empty stripper poles set up for drunk people with lowered inhibitions for their friends (most likely with cameras in hand) to watch them make idiots out of themselves.

 

He’s fairly certain that Erica is filming it to jerk off to later, and he can see Lydia and Jackson fighting at one of the tables set up in front of the stage, but he doesn’t care because for once he feels good and loose and like nothing can hurt him.

 

As he dances, his gaze can’t help but gravitate towards Derek, and he waves drunkenly (not that he’s capable of doing anything in a sober manner). He can’t be sure with the poor lighting and all, but he thinks he sees Derek’s lips twitch upwards.

 

Derek’s entire expression is foreign to Stiles, scowl gone and features… something, he doesn’t know, he’s too drunk and focused on not falling over to make the connection of Derek’s facial features to any particular emotions. He tips his head back and laughs, lets himself pretend for one golden moment as he gyrates on the pole that Derek is watching him dance with lust, with love, with fond amusement.

 

He laughs again, loud and carefree and safe.

 

-

 

“Gabriel, my man!” Dean said, grinning as he walked up to the short man. He’d found him by the anyone-can-use-’em stripper poles, watching a bachelorette party get suitably wild. “How you been?”

 

“I’m surrounded by alcohol, money, and drunk college girls, I’m doing amazing,” Gabriel said, grinning back.

 

“So dude, remember how I helped you with that succubus problem?” Dean asked.

 

Gabriel nodded, handing Dean a beer, and gesturing for him to sit down beside him.  “You drink here for free, of course I remember.”

 

Dean took a seat, stretching out his legs and twisting the top of his beer before taking a long draught. He couldn’t get drunk, but he didn’t mind - that was probably a bad idea with him being as new to his powers as he was.

 

“Well, I was on a hunt and me and Sammy got bit by the Wolfman.” Dean spread his arms.  “I am now a werewolf.”

 

“What? Nah,” Gabe said dismissively. “You’re way too put together for this close to the full moon, even if it _is_ waxing. I just saw you last month in Houston, and you were human then.”

 

Dean flashed his eyes at Gabe, a brilliant red in the darkness. He’d spent a good couple hours in their en-suite bathroom with Cas, perfecting the technique. It made Cas smile when he did it and went cross eyed.

 

“You’re an Alpha,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. “Should have known you’d kill the bastard that got you.”

 

“Nah, didn’t. No idea where it went,” Dean said, shrugging. “I’m a true Alpha or some shit, everyone was really weird about it.”

 

Gabriel snorted disbelievingly. “Yeah, right.”

 

“Fine, don’t believe me, but I swear on my car it’s true,” Dean said, taking another sip of his beer. When he put it down his face was soft, almost dreamy. “And Gabe - I found my Cas.”

 

“Cas?” Gabe asked, then his face became inscrutable. “You mean Castiel? Like from Supernatural?”

 

“Yeah! He’s my mate and he’s perfect and we haven’t even had sex yet but I don’t care.” Dean grinned. “Man, you gotta meet him.”

 

Gabriel waved a hand vaguely. “Maybe someday - wait. _You_ haven’t had sex with him yet and you’re _happy?”_

 

Dean nodded. “I know it sounds insane for me but - he’s everything I could ever want and then some, and if I never get to screw him it’s still more than I could ever ask for.”

 

Gabriel made a face. “Gross. That is _disgusting._ How _dare_ you bring that level of domestic serenity here. I’m going to make sure that twink hasn’t killed himself yet, boy is drunk as hell, I’m surprised he hasn’t passed out yet.”

 

-

 

Stiles was surprisingly graceful on the pole, as he should be considering all the practice he’d put in. Erica was taking a pole dancing class and didn’t want to go alone, okay, and even if he was the only guy there he excelled at it.

 

After the first few thousand times he fell and bruised the hell out of himself, that is.

 

Gabriel approached his pole just as he was sliding into an open legged crouch, neck thrown back and hands holding onto the pole behind him. Stiles stood up, leaning down so he could put his face close to Gabe’s ears.

 

“Hey, my man buddy friend!” Stiles slurred.

 

“Xrnh,” Gabriel said very seriously and Stiles made a face and staggered backwards a little, about to tell him off for using his real name. “Look over there.”

 

Stiles squinted in the direction he was pointing - directly at Derek. “What?” he said, starting to turn around, but a hard shove accompanied by the words _‘you’re pathetic, thank me later’_ and he was face down in Derek’s lap.

 

And suddenly realized what Derek’s weird face was about, because either Derek was happy to see him or he’d shoved a dildo in his pants.

 

He glanced up, a million questions on the tip of his tongue, just in time to see Derek raise his eyebrows and nod towards the girl (he vaguely recognized her, she was a senior when he was a freshman) dancing on the pole next to Stiles’.

 

“Oh,” Stiles said, feeling like an idiot for having hoped.

 

Derek just raised his eyebrows and glanced at where Stiles’ mouth was still extremely close to his dick.

 

“Oh!” Stiles gasped, jerking upright and feeling clumsy for the first time since he’d downed his fifth shot.

 

It’s worse than if he was sober, Stiles knows that, because if he was sober he would have suppressed that one wild moment of hope where he thought _this is for me, he feels this for **me.**_ Instead he’s ready to cry, and he looks away, blinking wildly as he swallows down all the things he can’t say.

 

The first tear slips out and he thinks maybe Derek can smell it because he hears a sharp gasp from him - he can’t look, if Derek can see him then Derek will try and say something or worse not say anything at all - but when he glances up in any direction that _isn’t_ his Alpha, he sees that the college girl has taken her Beacon Hills Community t-shirt off and thrown it at her feet.

 

He needs to leave. Right now.

 

Stiles is crying, _stupid stupid stupid,_ and he grabs Erica by the hand as he passes her and drags her outside to sob on by the back exit.

 

He should know better than to hope by now.

 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

 

-

 

As soon as Stiles was out of sight, Derek dashed for the nearest trashcan, heaving up everything he’d eaten that day.

 

 _He_ made Stiles cry, _he’d_ done that, he’d failed his mate in the most basic of ways. He was never supposed to be the one to hurt Stiles - wasn’t that the whole point of this? To ensure that Stiles stayed happy?

 

But he knew it was for the best, it had to be, because he couldn’t handle it if it wasn’t.

 

Derek thought about the scent of tears, salty, and the scent of Stiles’ pain, acrid, and heaved again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dean heavy duty flirts with stiles, like lists of the things he would do to him if it weren't for castiel. I don't count this as actual dean/stiles, but I'm p sensitive myself about this kind of thing so i figured it was best to warn for it. Erica almost starts masturbating to it too so there's that. 
> 
> Also, for Stiles' real name i did not just hit the keyboard and have gibberish happen, it's the name of a minor angel. v minor. as in not assigned a purpose anywhere i could find. it's the most unpronounceable thing i could discover. I like to think stiles' mom was magical too and that she knew there was power in a name so she gave stiles a name he would never use and that v v v few people would even be able to say


	10. love is like liquor: it burns as it moves you (there's nobody fireproof)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: canon typical violence, body modification  
> chapter title is from [Dutch by Dessa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gF3EcrRXO50)

It had been almost three weeks, and while Stiles wasn’t over it per say, he was coping. He was crying into his cereal a lot, sure, and had a habit of waking up from those terrible horrible (perfect, wonderful) dreams about them together with a gaping soul sucking pit of emptiness behind his ribcage but he was doing okay, he really really was.

 

And almost three weeks meant the full moon was coming up, which meant a food run. They could always do with more food, and it was a good thing Derek was _loaded_ or they’d never have enough to feed the pack.

 

Erica and Stiles were in the grocery aisle, grabbing three boxes of everyone’s favorite kind because he’d seen Isaac single handedly eat two full boxes of Golden Grahams on the morning of the last full moon and Isaac had the _smallest_ appetite of the ‘wolves.

 

One second Erica was taking a breath to laugh at Stiles’ good natured impression of Derek’s face when he found jizz crusted onto his bathtub and came down to confront Scott about it, the next Stiles was being mom armed and Erica was flashing her eyes and growling.

 

The boy at the end of the aisle - he couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen - growled back, face going into the beta shift. His eyebrows didn’t disappear, Stiles noted even as he was reaching for his phone - Derek had to know about this immediately.

 

“Whoa, whoa,” said the boy next to the omega, grabbing his friend’s shoulders and rubbing them. “Breathe, c’mon, think about making a goal with ten seconds on the clock at state, Liam.”

 

Liam’s face cleared and shifted back to human, leaving a slightly dazed looking kid. “I - who are you?”

 

Stiles was too busy typing into his phone _911 omega in walmart_ to answer the question but Erica was already on it.

 

“Who are _we?”_ she asked incredulously. “You’re on _our_ territory. What the hell are you doing here?”

 

“Are you werewolves too?” Liam’s friend asked, frowning a little.

 

“Who. Are. You,” Erica said, punctuating her words with growls and steps forward.

 

Stiles rushed to cut her off. “Whoa, whoa, no attacking teenyboppers in public.”

 

“I’m Liam,” Liam  said, then gestured to his friend. “And he’s Mason.”

 

“Stiles and Erica,” Stiles said. He stopped for a moment, assessing the boy. He looked innocent in a way that didn’t stay long in werewolves, clean. Maybe it was because his pack had all been through horrible things, but there was a hardness that seemed to develop after their first full moon. “How long have you been a werewolf, exactly?”

 

“Like -” Liam frowned and looked at Mason.

 

“Not long?” Mason provided. “Like a month. He went out for snacks and someone slammed him up against his car and bit him on the shoulder. I take it that wasn’t you guys.”

 

“No,” Erica said, looking worried.

 

Stiles frowned down at his phone, fingers flying as he typed out a message.

 

_Rogue alpha in town. Bringing omega and his friend back to the house_

 

“Okay, you need to come with us,” Stiles said decisively. Liam squeaked and looked at Mason unsurely, and Stiles realized how that must sound what with all the growling Erica was still doing. “I mean, we’re not gonna hurt you, we just have to take you to see our Alpha so we can figure out what’s going on here. We don’t know who bit you, but you’re not allowed to just run around creating werewolves by force and then abandoning them.”

 

Stiles took a deep breath, thinking. “Okay. Okay.”

 

“Stiles?” Erica asked hesitantly, tugging on his sleeve.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You have to be nice to them now. Also, we need to finish grabbing cereal. And Jackson needs his disgusting wheaties or he’ll throw a fit, don’t think I didn’t see you try and get grapenuts for him.”

 

Erica huffed, putting them back as she mumbled under her breath. “He made Lydia cry, he doesn’t deserve wheaties.”

 

“What did you say?” Stiles said.

 

Erica spun around, tossing the wheaties into the cart. “He made Lydia _cry,_ Stiles, you don’t _understand.”_

 

Stiles tensed up, equal parts angry and happy. He wasn’t in love with Lydia anymore, and Jackson and him were more friendly enemies than anything else, but that didn’t mean that he thought Jackson was nearly good enough for her - especially when he made her cry. “Dude, look on the bright side, this is your chance to get with her!”

 

His friend turned bright red with the effort of suppressing tears. She must have been freaking out about this for longer than he knew. “I know, but I don’t wanna be the rebound that she drops in a hot minute for Jackson.”

 

Stiles slung an arm around her shoulder. “Hey, you know, we really need to talk about polya-”

 

“Excuse me?” Liam said hesitantly. “We’re still here.”

 

“Yes, right! Okay teenyboppers, let’s go check out.”

 

-

 

Derek crashed into Stiles when they were almost at his jeep, shoving Stiles behind him and bristling defensively. He was breathing hard and smelled sweaty (but in a good way, because Stiles’ hormones made him like disgusting things sometimes).

 

“Did you _run_ here?” Stiles asked, casually walking around Derek back to the cart and pushing it the last little way before he could pop the trunk.

 

Derek mumbled something Stiles couldn’t quite hear.

 

“What?” he asked, beginning to unload the groceries into his trunk.

 

“I said, they had sex in my car again,” Derek said, starting to help.

 

“I feel your pain,” Stiles snorted. Allison and Scott were a menace with an apparent fetish for fucking _everywhere._

 

They exchanged understanding looks for a second before Liam cleared his throat pointedly and Stiles realized that the second had been more like a minute and a half.

 

Derek was suddenly all up in Liam’s personal space, nostrils flaring as he took deep breaths. Liam backed away slowly until he was practically hiding around Mason, who looked a little too happy at being sniffed by a stranger (albeit a very attractive one).

 

Stiles glared at Mason, crossing his arms. Derek invading personal space and looking intimidating was kind of _their_ thing and he wasn’t happy that some fifteen year old was getting closer to Derek than he had since around the last full moon. Mason cringed away from Derek when Stiles pulled out a knife and started playing with it, eyes narrowed and assessing.

 

Derek finally backed away, looking satisfied. Mason sighed mournfully and Liam whimpered in relief, burying his face in the side of Mason’s neck. Mason had noticed how much more touchy feely he was since the bite, but he didn’t really mind it. He’d missed the cuddles stage when Liam decided that he’d grown out of it and was far too manly to need to hug.

 

Stiles noticed that Derek looked less disapproving than usual while he looked at the teenyboppers, and Stiles sighed, already knowing that they’d just been accepted into the pack.

 

“I call shotgun,” Derek said with his friendliest scowl.

 

Erica made affronted noises, because she _always_ got shotgun in Stiles’ jeep _thankyouverymuch,_ but she allowed it, grumbling all the while and sending several rapid texts to Stiles phone that he knew would contain loud complaints about Derek and favoritism.

 

Stiles started the car, and tried not to smile when Derek stroked a hand absently down the side of his face and let it rest on Stiles’ neck.

 

If he smiled, Derek might stop.

 

-

 

Dean was terrible at gardening.

 

He’d inadvertently crushed several of Cas’ plants already, but Castiel was anything but angry. He was smiling instead, and laughing a little when Dean’s hand slipped and he banged himself with a shovel. It wasn’t that Dean banging himself with a shovel was funny, it was the way sideburns suddenly appeared, Dean’s eyes turned red, and he made a surprised yelp.

 

Jess and Sam were sitting on the porch swing, Jess curled up in his mostly in his lap, and Sam making a valiant effort to curl up on the porch swing yet failing terribly. They were whispering things to each other that weren’t nearly as cute as Dean wished he could say they were and far more x-rated than he was interested in hearing from sweet adorable Jess, so he focused on the drum of Castiel’s heart to block them out.

 

“This is aster,” Castiel said, gesturing towards the yellow flowers he’d just planted. “It used to be used to ward off evil snakes, but it now represents love and patience most places. Also,” Cas said with a small smile, “it attracts bees.”

 

Dean scrunched up his nose. “I’m allergic.”

 

Cas looked torn, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should remove the aster immediately and burn it. “Bees are very important to the environment. Do you think being a werewolf could have cured you?”

 

Dean thought about it, didn’t know, shrugged. The wind shifted direction just then, blowing pollen and loose flower petals into his face. He sneezed, then sneezed again, until he was sneezing hysterically, choking on the scent of flowers.

 

Cas pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh, because Dean looked so _cute._ Cuter than a guinea pig even. Almost as cute as-

 

“What’s wrong?” Dean said, slightly alarmed as he sniffled. He could barely smell anything over the stench of pollen and plant, but he could detect sad-mate at fifty yards upwind. He narrowed his eyes. “What do I have to murder?”

 

“Oh,” Cas said, shaking his head. “No one, I just remembered my cat, Jael. She died in the fire.”

 

Dean nodded decisively after a moment of thought. “Okay. After we finish planting all this stuff we’re going to the pound.”

 

Sam perked up from where he was complimenting Jess on her eyes (for the third time in fifteen minutes, and that he was minoring in English it only made the drivel pouring out of his lips more embarrassing) and shouted, even though he really didn’t need to.

 

“Dean! Does this mean I can get a dog?”

 

“Yeah, of course. I mean, we’re not on the road anymore and there aren’t exactly pet codes here,” a determination usually only found during a hunt filled Dean’s face, watering eyes narrowing as he rubbed his nose with his sleeve. “We will get _all the animals.”_

 

There was a general outcry of joy, Jess whooping while Sam was about to vibrate outside of his own skin with happiness. Their apartment building hadn’t allowed pets.

 

Stiles’ jeep pulled up in the drive just then and there was a moment where everyone simultaneously realized that 1) they hadn’t talked to Derek about staying at the pack house permanently, 2) they hadn’t talked to Derek about actually being pack and 3) they didn’t know if they were allowed to have pets.

 

This led to some garbled sentences as everyone attempted to ask Derek all of those things all at once, and were finally cut off by Derek getting out of the jeep and barking at them to shut the hell up.

 

Derek took a deep breath, rubbed a hand down his face, blew it out. “I have to deal with something, and then we’ll get the pack together and pick out a dog. We have to make sure it doesn’t react negatively with anyone’s wolf. And you’re all pack. This is the house built specifically for pack. Figure it out.”

 

Then he opened the Jeep’s back door and hovered as two teenage boys got out, crowding up behind them as he herded them into the house.

 

Stiles and Erica trailed after Derek, heading upstairs until they’d reached the study. The room was thankfully big enough that they didn’t have to all crowd together, but with Derek looming his best loom it felt small.

 

“You’ve been given something most people would kill for,” Derek started seriously, and Stiles just suppressed the urge to snicker at the re-used material.

 

It almost sounded like something that he’d been told actually, for him to repeat it word for word like that. Maybe there was tradition behind it, for those who were bitten. Stiles wasn’t about to volunteer to ask about whether any of Derek’s dead pack were brought into the fold with those words, not because he wasn’t suicidal, but because he knew Derek would tell him. With the _face._ And the _eyebrows._

 

“The bite is a gift,” Derek continued, and Stiles cringed a little, the entire thing less funny than before he realized that it was probably something Derek was drawing on memories of dead packmates for.

 

“Right!” Liam said, eyes sparkling and flashing gold a little around the edges. “It’s _awesome.”_

 

Derek’s confused but pleasantly surprised scowl appeared. Yep, that was definitely not how it went the last time he’d given this speech.

 

“Anchors,” Derek recovered, finally, now that he didn’t have to convince Liam that he was a blessed little duckling and Derek was his mother goose.

 

(Stiles had the best metaphors, shut up.)

 

“They keep you grounded to your humanity. There’s nothing wrong with your wolf side itself, it’s just that it acts on desires your human side suppresses.”

 

“What kind of desires?” Liam asked, looking suddenly nervous.

 

“Mostly violent, it’s the most common thing that people don’t have an outlet for in their lives.”

 

Liam looked scared, twitching closer and closer to Mason until he had the other boy wrapped up in his arms.

 

“But - Liam hasn’t been more violent than usual,” Mason said, frowning as he patted his friend’s hand soothingly. “In fact, he hasn’t even been as violent as usual.”

 

Derek’s lips twitched upwards, raising his eyebrows significantly as he looked at the boys.

 

Mason frowned, and Liam scrunched up his face as he thought really hard.

 

“You’re his anchor,” Stiles stage whispered obnoxiously to Mason.

 

“I - me?” Mason said, pointing at himself and looking increasingly flustered in general.

 

“Well, we’ve been best bros since kindergarten,” Liam said reasonably.

 

“And the spray bottle helps,” Mason added thoughtfully.

 

Stiles had on his best _don’t let them see you cry_ smile, and Erica patted his shoulder consolingly. He was mostly over Scott having downgraded him to fourth or fifth best friend since the whole werewolf business started, but it still stung that his best friend since pre-school had picked a girl he barely knew for an anchor.

 

Even taking into consideration the whole mates bond or whatever.

 

-

 

What little of Jason was left enjoyed the view.

 

It was so much nicer than the _(cold, dark, crowded, dripping dripping dripping)_ basement. He wanted, with what could still want, to run into the trees and never leave them. The sounds of dozen of little hearts pitter-pattering around him made him hungry, excited. Something in him knew that as much fun as it was to hear those hearts beat their steady little beats, it would be even more fun to make them truly race.

 

But Alpha had told them to find their brother. Jason liked that idea. He couldn’t wait to have another brother. Alpha was always telling them that they weren’t allowed to play outside until there were more of them, and maybe this new brother would be enough that he could chase the tiny hearts.

 

_Find your brother,_ Alpha had said. _Find him and bring him home._

 

-

 

They’d been making out lazily for a round a half hour now - not that it was going anywhere, they just wanted to be close and comparably season 3 of Supernatural was boring as hell.

 

Dean stiffened suddenly (not in the fun way, even) and jerked his head away from Cas to take a deep breath through his nose. His eyes flashed red, and he left the bed.

 

“Something’s here,” Dean said grimly. “It’s wrong.”

 

He glanced at Cas, who was already running offensive spells through his head.

 

“At least consider staying here?” he asked hopefully.

 

Cas shook his head and went for the door. Dean growled in frustration, but he didn’t bother arguing it - Cas was more than capable of handling himself. The years he’d spent in the army when he was younger ensured that.

 

He didn’t have to arm himself, but he made a point of keeping weapons on him at all times. Right now all he had were knives, but they were all he needed. They thumped down the stairs, Dean just barely making it in ahead of Cas.

 

When they did reach the downstairs, they were greeted by three strangers. One of the girls had on a barista uniform with the nametag Holly, the other a cute halter top miniskirt combo. Hovering behind them almost protectively was a boy with light shaggy hair and pale blue eyes. The halter top girl had blood running down her stomach and into the top of her skirt, and when the boy and Holly snapped their heads toward Dean and Cas, Dean could see that blood had run down their neck and soaked into the tops of their collars and upper back.

 

And they _stunk_. They smelled - not worse than a corpse, but not a helluva lot better, that’s for sure. Dean was intrigued by it almost as much as he was grossed out, and he took another sniff.

 

That was when Holly decided to charge, grinning with entirely too many teeth, and heading straight for Dean. He noticed then what he hadn’t before: they had claws, and some of those teeth were fangs. Dropping automatically into a defensive pose, he readied himself to incapacitate her until he knew what to do with her.

 

But before she could get close enough for him to do any such thing, a bright purple ball of light ripped its way through her chest. She looked down at the gaping and cauterized hole, eyes flashing gold as she frowned with confusion.

 

“Dude!” Dean said, turning to look accusingly at Cas. Talk about shoot first ask questions later, je-

 

The other girl was running at Cas, her grin slightly less demented, but teeth and claws still sharp. Before Dean fully registered what he’d done, he’d already dispatched of the possible threat to his mate, and she was lying on the floor choking on her own blood, slashes in her throat so deep he could _just_ see glints of white bone.

 

“Shit,” Dean gasped.

 

The girl - she couldn’t have been more than seventeen - looked at him with desperate, terrified golden eyes. They flashed from gold to gray for maybe ten seconds, and then her body went lax.

 

The boy ran to Holly’s corpse, dropping to his knees and pawing at her frantically. He whined, long and low and Dean had a sinking feeling in his stomach. The monsters were supposed to attack you, try and kill you, feast upon the innocents’ flesh - not kneel on the floor and break into mournful howls.

 

“Should we…” Dean made a stabbing motion.

 

“No, I don’t,” Cas said faintly, looking a little nauseous. “I don’t believe that will be necessary.”

 

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the thunder of footsteps in the hallway leading up to the stairs. Stiles, Derek and Erica appeared - in that order - and darted down the stairs until they were crashing to a halt beside Dean and Castiel.

 

“What happened,” Derek said, in a way that was less question than it was demand.

 

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, but the boy’s increasingly loud howls cut him off. Cas made an apologetic shrug.

 

There was a long moment where they all just stood there, staring. Then Peter entered the room, grimacing.

 

Dean didn’t know enough about Peter yet to know he should stop him, and so he didn’t move out of the way when Derek lunged forward. Dean stumbled a little and would have fallen over if Cas hadn’t caught him, and it was too late.

 

There was a loud _crack_ that Dean had long associated with necks being snapped, and then there was silence.

 

-

 

Holly grinned, wild and fierce, as she caught the scent of an Alpha. Maybe _he_ would let them play. Maybe he’d even like to play _with them._

 

She rushed forward, hair streaming behind her, preparing to offer her neck so that he knew she was friendly.

 

-

 

A lot of yelling later, there were still bodies on the floor, and no one was any closer to figuring out what the fuck had just happened.

 

“Fine,” Derek said finally, explosively. “His howls might have drawn his Alpha. But there are ways besides _killing him_ to make him shut the fuck up!”

 

“Nephew, are you aware of the amount of blunt force trauma it takes to knock a werewolf unconscious for any significant period of time?” Peter asked, looking bored. “In my current condition-”

 

“Being a beta isn’t a ‘condition’, Peter, stop making it sound like a disease.”

 

“-it was more than I could quickly and efficiently provide.”

 

Erica coughed loudly, violently, until everyone was looking at her. She pointed at the bodies pointedly.

 

“Oh. We should probably figure out what those are all about,” Stiles said, already inching towards the corpses to inspect them.

 

“I’m not cleaning them up,” Derek said, looking suddenly tired as he stared down at the dead teenagers littered on his floor. He’d been distracted by trying to keep the corrupting influences of Stiles and Erica from Liam and Mason’s young minds, and hadn’t realized that the three sets of footsteps coming in the door weren’t pack.

 

Cas joined Stiles, kneeling on the floor and gently rolling over the boy’s corpse. A card of some kind was sticking out of his pocket and Cas pulled it out curiously.

 

“Organ Donor card,” Cas said, eyes scanning it quickly. “Jason Chesterfield.”

 

“Hey, I found something weird over here? I mean, besides the giant magic missile induced hole,” Stiles said, raising Holly’s arm.

 

On her wrist was a brand of a three headed dog crushing a flower under its foot.

 

Cas didn’t say anything but Stiles, who was an expert in subtle facial expressions, just managed to make out something that was _either ‘well shitfuckernozzles’_ or _‘this bodes ill fortune’_. Maybe both. 

 

“Well?” Stiles said impatiently, jiggling the Holly’s arm back and forth. “What is it?”

 

“An ancient resurrection spell,” Castiel said, dropping the ID card onto Jason’s chest and moving to crouch next to Stiles. “That symbol, it’s Cerberus crushing narcissus. The flower, not the man. These were guardians of someplace, something, maybe warriors, much as Cerberus guards Hades.”

 

“And the flower represents death,” Stiles said. “So, the duty of guarding or fighting or whatever supersedes death?”

 

“Yes,” Cas said. He stood, and Stiles dropped Holly’s arm so he could as well.

 

“So what are they called?” Stiles asked.

 

Cas frowned. “I can’t remember.”

 

Stiles stood for a moment, frowning in concentration, before he broke into a brilliant grin. Despite the shit day, Derek’s lips tugged upwards a little at the sight of it.

 

“There is a word. A word I have been saving for such a special occasion. And what with Hades being known as Pluto, it’s perfect,” Stiles said.

 

Stiles left a significant pause, self satisfied smirk only growing.

 

“Just spit it out,” Derek finally said, sighing. This was mostly so he could take a deep breath and fill his lungs with the smell of happy Stiles (and a couple of corpses, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Shit. Dead hobo looking kid on the floor. Bad choice of words).

 

“We’re calling ‘em ploots,” Stiles said.

 

Derek snorted in spite of himself. “No one cares, Stiles.”

 

“I care,” Erica said indignantly, bumping shoulders with Stiles. “It was my word!”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek said dismissively, wincing inside a little when Erica started to pout. Not any pout though, the pout that meant bad things were coming his way. Peter made _an ‘oh no you di-ihn’t’_ face just for him. “We need to know where they’re coming from, why they attacked us, and who sent them.”

 

“Uh. Well,” Stiles said, and Derek felt an old argument rising in the way Stiles’ scent grew rotten with resentment. “I don’t want to be rude, but we _do_ let almost all of our enemies leave with a slap on the wrist.”

 

“It’s not my fault,” Derek snapped back. “Talk to Scott, he’s the one who threatens to leave every time I try and maim someone.”

 

“Well maybe if you just started letting me help fight then you wouldn’t have to take him and we could kill people!”

 

Peter sighed, examining his nails. Erica decided to jump in before they got really serious.

 

“Told you we should have killed people,” Erica said, directing the topic away from the serious fight and into the less explosive one.

 

Stiles pointed at her. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

 

Everyone heard the skip in his heartbeat, and Stiles grimaced at the smirk that spread over her face. Erica looked between Derek and him, waggling her eyebrows. 

 

Stiles clapped his hands together. “Time for an abrupt and sudden subject change! Who wants to go take care of Liam and Mason?”  


“Who are they?” Dean asked from where he was carefully searching Cas for any kind of injury.

 

“Welp, good thing we have a volunteer.” Stiles grinned. “Go wash up and change your clothes. You have a little blood on your… everywhere… and they’re impressionable little teenyboppers.”

 

Dean just shrugged. “Sure. Erica, you’re helping me.”

 

Erica stepped forward with a flirtatious smile. “I’d _love_ to help you wash up.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes so hard he was lucky that they didn’t fall out of his head. “No, jailbait, you’re helping me with Liam and Mason. Whoever they are.”

 

Erica pouted, looking somewhat disappointed, even though she hadn’t expected that to actually work. “First of all, I’m 18 and second I get to watch you clean up if I have to deal with the puppies.”

 

“They’re puppies?” Dean said, scrunching up his face. “Whatever. I don’t care, I’m just changing shirts. Cas, do you care?”

 

Cas shook his head and Erica gave an internal fist pump. She was more classy than Stiles that way, who did all his fist pumping for God and everyone to see.

 

-

 

Stiles called Lydia not long after Cas said they could do a tracking spell. She was almost as interested in magic as Stiles was, though she was way more interested in fire spells than Stiles was comfortable with. It reminded him how she knew how to make a self igniting Molotov cocktail and saved their asses all those years ago.

 

And excitingly enough for Lydia, there was fire involved with this tracking spell. That was less exciting for Derek, and he had left soon after Cas explained what the spell had entailed, with one final glower at Stiles that Stiles would like to think meant _‘stay safe I love you’_ but was probably more along the lines of _‘if you die you moron I’ll have to organize birthday parties and I’m not chill with that’._

 

The map of Beacon Hills was already spread out on the table, the marked hunk of flesh carved off of Holly’s body sitting in the center of it. Stiles had done that, and he thought it said something about him that as he did it all he could think about was how very much he wanted a burrito.

 

Cas said a few words over the map in Latin, Lydia listening intently and Stiles thinking about what kind of burritos he would get when this was over. One of each, he thought, chicken, beef and bean. Castiel sprinkled a few herbs over the entire thing and then dropped a match on it.

 

The fire caught immediately, ripping through the map and incinerating the small piece of Holly on its way. The fire burned away the map until only a small piece on the outskirts of town remained.

 

632 Sullivan St was both an abandoned slaughterhouse and the former home to serial killers. The family of ghouls who lived there had a nasty tendency to take their meat fresh, rather than digging it up in the cemetery like a normal ghoul family. Most other ghouls’ reaction was horrified - necrotic flesh was a generally recognized necessity of a proper diet.

 

“So. That’s creepy,” Stiles said. He’d recognized the address immediately. Lydia looked at him with arched eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, and Cas just stared at him steadily. “Remember the ghouls? Kidnapping people, chopping them up, sometimes losing a piece or two inside the distinctly less human meat and selling it anyways?”

 

Stiles stared down at the map as he thought. He was fed up, to say the least, of staying behind. What the hell was all his training worth if the only time he got to use it was in practice? What the hell was his training worth if Derek got hurt and he wasn’t there to stop it?

 

It wasn’t a new train of thought, far from it, but it was still frustrating. Derek would know if he followed them, he always knew. It would take a fucking miracle to go along.

 

Or a magic trick.

 

He turned to face Cas. “Can we do stealth spells? Specifically, on me?”

 

Cas frowned and so did Lydia, though Cas’ was one of concentration and Lydia’s was _‘God you’re stupid and Derek’s gonna kill us’._

 

“With the supplies we have currently, I can give you a rune that will muffle your movements and scatter the noises you make, while also hiding you from sight. It’s activated by force of will and your spark.”

 

“That sounds great, paint it on me,” Stiles said, bouncing a little on his heels. Oh yeah, he was so going along for the ride this time.

 

“It’s a brand,” Castiel said bluntly. “I would have to melt it line by line into your flesh.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles said, deflating.

 

Yeah, this was gonna take some convincing.

 

(In the end, it was easier than he thought. Castiel understood his desperation to be recognized as an equal by Derek, having dealt with that in his own home and failing. Lydia’s not so subtle bribes of promised translations helped too.)

 

-

 

Derek was just reading a book, minding his own business, when he heard Stiles scream.

 

The noise was like a knife in his ears, and he was on his feet immediately, body rushing with adrenaline as he ran towards the backyard.

 

-

 

Fuck, but it _hurt._ He wasn’t stupid, he’d expected it to hurt, but there was pain and then there was _this._

 

This had gone beyond pain, into some unknown wasteland that Stiles had never even known existed.

 

He tried to focus on literally anything else, the burning smell of his flesh, the way the magic wriggled through his skin and into his chest like a living thing, the sound of his own voice screaming. It wasn’t the physical pain that was bothering him though, yeah, okay, that kind of really fucking _sucked._ It was the way the magic seared his insides, an expanding star in his ribcage. Eventually he could barely breathe through it, and certainly not enough to scream.

 

Stiles could vaguely register that Cas had stopped with the hot knife they’d used to brand him, but the magic didn’t stop. If anything it grew stronger, tendrils of fire shrieking their way through his veins.

 

-

 

Derek could smell his mate’s pain before he could see him. When he could see him, a new scent reached him and he choked on horror.

 

It was the smell of burned meat.

 

-

 

Someone was gripping his shoulders, sitting on his stomach, their forehead pressed to his.

 

Stiles didn’t like it. It kept him from thrashing as he wanted to, as he _needed_ to. He couldn’t breathe enough to scream but he could pound against the ground in an attempt to distract himself.

 

-

 

Derek couldn’t focus on anything except the pain.

 

He was pulling as much out of Stiles as he could take, but it was beyond excruciating. He couldn’t think of anything that had ever hurt this much, and if he had been able to feel anything except pain and agonizing worry, he would have been pissed at Stiles for whatever dumb shit he’d done that caused this.

 

-

 

It was gone as suddenly as it had come, left Stiles blinking watery eyes upward as his body turned boneless.

 

He had all of thirty seconds to gasp blankly up into familiar green eyes - and he’d dreamed of them being in a position like this, more than once, though there was usually far more nudity and less glaring. Then Derek was dragging him up into a sitting position, fingerings bruising where they dug into Stiles’ shoulders. He looked one word from wolfing out.

 

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking?” Derek yelled, shaking Stiles. “How could you do something like that without telling me?”

 

“Whoa,” Stiles snapped, putting up a finger. It shook, and he ignored that. “One, it’s my body, which means I can do whatever the fuck I want with it without telling you first.”

 

“I’m your Alpha, I think I get some say over whether or not you make Castiel burn some magical shit into your skin,” Derek snarled back.

 

“No, Derek, you don’t,” Stiles said. He was trying so hard not to yell, and his voice nearly cracked with the tension of holding it in. “Besides, if you’d just let me fight like you know, literally everyone else in the pack, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

 

Derek jerked back a little, looking disbelieving. “You’re saying this is my fault?”

 

“It’s nobody’s fault because it’s nothing someone should be blamed for!” Stiles shouted. “You don’t trust me to go on missions because I’m loud and clumsy and the bad guys will find me in a heartbeat, never mind that I’ve been sneaking up on Isaac for months and he’s a fucking _werewolf._ Well, now that won’t ever happen so you can back the fuck up with treating me like a child and-”

 

“A child,” Derek snorted, removing his hands from Stiles’ arms and standing up. He could feel his heartbeat pulsing where Derek’s fingerprints were bruised into his skin. “Yeah. You’re right.”

 

Stiles paused, halfway off the ground. “I’m what?”

 

“I do treat you like a child,” Derek said, and Stiles could hear the false calm in his voice, read it in his eyebrows. He stood up, braced himself. “But maybe if you weren’t such a hyperactive, obsessive, masochistic _brat_ I wouldn’t treat you like one.”

 

Stiles froze halfway through a breath, shaking with _rage._ He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry.

 

He’d told Derek those fears in confidence, a drunken confession to understanding and unjudging ears. To hear it spat back at him like this was unbearable.

 

“I need to leave,” Stiles said, voice tight and quiet. He had to get out of there before he said something he’d regret - it was too easy to break Derek, and he never had quite gotten the hang of pulling his punches.

 

-

 

Derek ran until the pack wouldn’t be able to hear him scream.

 


	11. your boldness stands alone among the wreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: okay babes, so this is the one you wanna look out for on the rape/noncon elements. if you want information on how to avoid it, skip down to the end notes and I'll tell you how. I also have some canon typical violence in here, and a character being drugged against their will (just a sedative)
> 
> chapter title comes from [Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKEIt9tAXt4)

Stiles’ thoughts were barbed wire scraping against the inside of his skull, shouting all the things he wanted to say.

 

Instead he counted his breaths and tightened his fingers on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He’d had Cas put the rune over his heart, and when he glanced down at it the skin was glossy and pink, a scar already. That reminded him - he’d left his shirt and over shirt out in the yard, and like hell was he going back for them now. He couldn’t bring himself to get out of the car and open the trunk to dig through the emergency duffle that held, among other things, a change of clothes. So he started the car and carefully pulled out of the driveway.

 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t known Derek would be pissed, he had, and he’d known that Derek would get nasty. He’d prepped himself for it. But between the unbelievable agony and the proximity of Derek’s crotch to his own, he’d lost his balance. Stiles had always been clumsy like that.

 

He was beyond ready to go home and do the one thing that was always sure to make his brain shut up: jerking off. Never once in all the years since he figured out what his dick was for had he ever found a better way to cope with things.

 

Stiles pulled into the driveway, already knowing exactly what video he was going to watch. And if it featured a muscled man with dark hair and a dark layer of stubble pounding into a pale skinny twink…

 

Well, that was his business.

 

He climbed out of the car and headed towards the door, tripping over his own feet and crashing face first into it. Stiles groaned, and just stayed there a moment, trying to become one with the door. The door didn’t have to deal with Derek tomorrow, or the day after that; in fact, his door had never even met Derek. His window was well acquainted with him of course, but Stiles’ door? Not so much.

 

Stiles felt a prick of something sharp at the base of his neck, winced away from it at the same time as his hand reached up to slap at the bug that had bit him. His hand hit something cold and plastic and not at all insect like, and Stiles frowned with confusion.

 

“What the fu-“ he started, but halfway through ‘fuck’ he forgot how to talk so instead he just closed his eyes and slept.

 

-

 

The man gazed down at Stiles.

 

It had taken quite a while to redress the boy to his satisfaction – his limbs were long and awkward and in the way, even when lax with sleep. But it was worth it to see him now, the black lace of the panties not quite hiding the tip of his soft cock where it peeked out under the waistband, rosebud nipples hardened from the cold and showing through the thin fabric of the red corset.

 

He had considered touching Stiles, taking his satisfaction from the unresisting form, but he knew that he preferred it when they struggled. It would be worth the wait. The sweetness wouldn’t just be found in the young body before him, but also in the knowledge that Stiles was helpless, terrified. He wondered if Stiles would plead, if he’d beg. If he’d grit his teeth and say nothing, refuse to give the man the satisfaction of even a grunt, or make useless threats and ineffective insults.

 

But there was nothing more to be done, and for now he could only wait.

 

-

 

Stiles woke slowly, too tired to even yawn. He wanted nothing more than to go straight back to sleep, but it felt important somehow that he stay awake, that he open his eyes.

 

He did, and was confused. The lighting of the room was golden and soft, romantic. He’d never seen a room lit by candlelight outside of a movie, but he imagined this is what it would be like. The air was filled with something subtle and vanilla-y, and either the room was filled with Glade air fresheners or it was candles. Maybe even scented lanterns. Can they do that? Is that a thing?

 

The ceiling is blurry, and it’s hard to bring it into focus besides _gray._ He turned his head, having to expend more energy to do so than he should. He’s panting a little by the time he’s looking at the rest of the room.

 

When his eyes manage to focus, the romantic feel is immediately ruined by what he sees.

 

Deucalion is sitting across from him, legs open and leering as he massages his crotch. Stiles makes an embarrassing yelp and scrambles to stand and fight or run or _something_ but his limbs are deadened and hard to move. His hand brushes the bare skin of his legs as he struggles, and he would frown if he had the energy. Instead he glances down, body moving in horror movie slow motion, horrified to see that he’s wearing what can only be called lingerie. Stiles tries harder to move, but it’s an uphill battle that he’s losing, and his body slows until it can only twitch helplessly.

 

A hand brushes his face, turns his head gently so that he’s looking at Deucalion again.

 

“I never dreamed they would let the denmother go unprotected,” he mused. “I am constantly amazed by your pack’s incompetence.”

 

Stiles glared, but was too tired to think of something snarky to say back, probably too tired to form the words if he had them. Each blink was drawing him under, each breath slower and deeper than the last.

 

“I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here,” Deucalion started, and Stiles tried his very best to roll his eyes. Way to be a cliché.

 

“Ploots,” he forced out.

 

Deucalion made a face that seemed to be trying to convey a message. Stiles was too tired to figure out exactly what it was, but he supposed it must have been something _like ‘oh great, he’s too tired to comprehend the awesomeness of the speech he’s about to receive, I, oh mighty Alpha of Alphas, seem to have made a mistake’._

 

Either way, he continued as if Stiles hadn’t spoken.

 

“You forcing me to leave Beacon Hills was the best thing you could have done for me. It gave me a… wake up call, a chance to see how _blinded_ I was.”

 

Deucalion paused, and Stiles couldn’t help the snicker that forced its way out of him. He was a sucker for good puns, even when they came from despicable people.

 

“It was you specifically that inspired me – your spark.” Deucalion reached out a hand, tapped Stiles on the chest. Stiles reached up a weak hand to bat him away, and Deucalion allowed it with an amused smile. “I dove into ancient magics and rituals, contacted some old friends.”

 

“I thought you killed all your old friends,” Stiles said, each word slow and slurred.

 

Deucalion ignored him. “It’s rather simple, when you get down to it. All I had to do was make myself betas, kill them for their power, and then resurrect them. I’m more powerful than you could imagine.”

 

Great. Fucking fantastic. Not only did Deucalion have zombie hordes just waiting to attack, but he also was pumped up on the extra power that killing them provided.

 

“Of course I would start here in Beacon Hills. What your pack lacks is proper leadership, and for all your faults you will be _excellent_ soldiers.”

 

Stiles growled, because even humans could do so under the proper duress, and this sure as hell counted as that.

 

-

 

They couldn’t find Stiles. It was suspicious when he didn’t appear to cook pack breakfast, because he _always,_ no matter _what,_ made them breakfast on Saturdays. But Derek and him _had_ had a bad fight, so they supposed he’d get over himself eventually and come feed them.

 

By the time it would have been brunch they were all getting nervous, and Erica and Scott (who didn’t get along too well, but were the only two worried enough to actually do something about it) went to check on him. They expected to find him crying along to Love Actually or The Notebook.

 

They didn’t expect to not find him at all, and when he didn’t answer his phone desperate measures were taken.

 

Derek was called, and he screeched into the Stilinski’s driveway at an irresponsible speed. He stomped into the house and yelled for Stiles, any residual anger dissipated in the fear that he was missing and not just using his new stealth mark to avoid them. He confirmed what Erica and Scott had already known, that Stiles hadn’t been there last night. The rest of the pack followed.

 

“I can’t find his scent,” Derek said, pacing back and forth in living room.

 

“It rained last night,” Boyd said, from where he was hovering over Danny and Charlie. They were busy checking the security footage from the cameras they had set up around Stiles’ house and around town. The pack had some around every pack member’s house after the third kidnapping, though the only person who _got_ kidnapped was Stiles.

 

“No, you don’t – I can _always_ track him,” Derek snarled. “There must be some spell running interference.”

 

“Great, so you’re useless,” Scott said, and Allison grabbed his shoulder, giving him a warning glance. He shook her off.

 

“What did you just say to me?” Derek asked, taking a threatening step in Scott’s direction.

 

“You’re useless,” Erica said, glaring at him. “You made Stiles walk straight into a trap, too mad to think straight and get out of it.”

 

Erica didn’t really believe what she was saying, though Scott did as he nodded in agreement. They were both angry, and Derek was too easy of a target.

 

Derek took a threatening step forward, claws appearing, but then he heard Isaac whimper and he stopped. Instead he shook his head, looking resigned even as he did so. He was smelling more and more distressed by the second.

 

Scott continued to attack him, hurling harsh words that made Derek curl in on himself just the smallest amount. Erica joined in on the abuse.

 

Dean and Castiel were talking about something intensely in low tones, and Lydia was nodding along every once in a while. Jackson was cuddling Isaac while pretending to not do so, and Jess was trying to calm down the curly haired teenager as well. He didn’t do well with the fighting.

 

Sam wandered everywhere sort of uselessly until he settled on trying to calm Erica and Scott down, or at least to get them to stop attacking their Alpha.

 

Charlie and Danny were swearing under their breath. Someone had broken the camera, though it appeared to be on accident, stepped on. Boyd glowered at the screen from where he hovered above them.

 

Then there was a sharp whistle cutting through the noise, even the humans wincing at it, and everyone turned to glare at Dean.

 

“Cas has a tracking spell that should work,” he said, and Cas nodded in confirmation. “We’ll track him through the mate bond.”

 

Derek looked relieved at being able to help somehow, nodding immediately as he stepped forward.

 

“Mates?” Scott echoed, glancing around the room. His eyes fell on Derek, who was already talking to Dean and Castiel. _“Mates?!”_

_-_

Stiles was starting to freak out, just a little, and the freak out was what was keeping him awake. Deucalion had explained in great detail just how awesome he and his plan were. It was meticulous, down to waiting for a rainy night to snatch him. Stiles was grudgingly impressed by it, though that quickly turned to horror when Deucalion started fondling his dick through his pants again. Even though he was more alert, he still couldn’t move to any degree where he would be able to fight Deucalion off or run.

 

“But do you know why _you’re_ here?” Deucalion asked, taking his sunglasses off and slipping them into his pocket.

 

“Is this about how I fucked your mom?” Stiles asked, because when in doubt go for a _your mom_ insult. He was slightly proud that he hadn’t just gone _‘YOUR FACE, THAT’S WHY’._

“That would be quite impressive, considering I killed her and burned her corpse. Although it’s a good thing you’re into that.” Deucalion leaned forward a little. “So am I.”

 

Stiles had never been so wrong about things being unable to get any creepier. Why couldn’t he have just _not_ gone looking for that corpse? Why couldn’t he have been like Scott, all dorky about getting a good night’s sleep? It was rare that he regretted that choice, but this was definitely one of those times.

 

“But no, you’re not here for that. You’re here to become my mate.” Deucalion paused, smiling indulgently at Stiles’ disbelieving expression. “Imagine it, ruling by my side – I’ll let you kill Derek, and you can become an Alpha as well. You won’t be as powerful as me of course, but killing your pack will help you take a step in the right direction. You may not want that now, but that will change, and with time you’ll thank me.”

 

Deucalion finally rose from his chair, erection large and obvious in his tight pants. He moved to straddle Stiles, pressing their crotches together and grinding down as his hands tweaked Stiles’ nipples.

 

Stiles tried to wiggle away, but it just made Deucalion laugh and bite at his throat softly. Something white hot and furious was building inside of Stiles and he let it even as it burned him. He recognized the feel of it from when he had the stealth rune done – and didn’t that feel like forever ago now – and from when he’d laid down the mountain ash.

 

_Magic._

 

Deucalion unzipped his pants, pulling his cock out and stroking it languidly. Stiles shuddered violently, partially from disgust and partially from the way the magic was pushing at the back of his throat, fighting to get out.

 

“Stop,” Stiles whispered, unwilling to risk anything louder, knowing that the magic wasn’t quite ready to be released yet.

 

“What was that?” Deucalion murmured. He was tracing designs into the skin of Stiles’ stomach, going further and further down with each one. “I can’t hear you.”

 

 _Just a little bit more._ Stiles thought, his world narrowed down to the burn in the back of his mouth and the pressure of Deucalion’s hand from where it was almost touching his cock. _Just a little bit-_

**Now.**

“Stop!” Stiles shouted, and the magic roared out of him with a thunderclap of noise, white and hot as it struck Deucalion, wormed its way into the man’s mouth and eyes and ears.

 

Deucalion shuddered, blood dripping from his eyes, something gray and thick sliding out of his ears. Then he was collapsing on Stiles, and Stiles laid there for a moment, catching his breath, mouth and throat stinging.

 

He shoved Deucalion off him with all his strength, watched mutely as he went through two walls before hitting the last one with enough force to crack his skull open.

 

Stiles dragged himself to a sitting position, leaning against the wall for support. He was shaky, even though he was fairly certain that the drugs had burned their way out of his system at the same time as the magic had. He glanced down at himself, at the wet red mess that his torso had become.

 

“I’ve got red on me,” he muttered, wishing Erica was here to get the reference and snicker, or Derek to get it and roll his eyes.

 

“Stiles,” a voice said, and when he looked back up Allison was standing and staring at him through the hole in the wall. Her voice was hesitant, soothing.

 

“That’s me,” he said, voice trembling.

 

“Your _eyes,_ ” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k, sweethearts, so there are really two separate bits. the first bit starts with 'He had considered touching Stiles,' and just talks about the bad guy's own desires to do bad touch to Stiles while he was unconscious, which he had decided against. it continues for that entire paragraph, then you're safe.
> 
> the second one starts off with '*bad guys name* finally rose from his chair, erection large and obvious in his tight pants.' and ends at the bold 'Now.' This will be easy to spot, it's the only bold i use in the entire story. IMPORTANT DETAIL: stiles' magic reacts to the bad guy getting so creepy so up close and personal, and it builds up in his chest and the back of his throat. the 'Now.' is referring to the magic being ready to be released.
> 
> DETAILS OF THE NONCON/RAPE ELEMENT FOR THE SECOND ONE: the bad guy straddles stiles, bites at his neck a bit, and starts jerking off on top of him.


	12. make a wish on our sorry little hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a couple of days since the last chapter so to remind you:
> 
> “Your _eyes,”_ she whispered.
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, babes, this is the end of our journey. Well, for now. I have plans to write more in this 'verse later, because the pack dynamics are going to be too fun not to and because I've got half of a sequel planned out in my head already. If you want to know when another bit is out, drop me a line in the comments and I'll let you know! To all you commenters, I can only say thank you so much. Whenever I'm feeling down about my writing I just look at your comments and feel so much better. You're all so brilliant, and I hope wherever you are and whatever you're doing you're having an incredible time and that you feel very loved. 
> 
> chapter title is from [A Love like War by All Time Low](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVTsGk2f3Ho)

Allison gave him her coat, wrapped him in it like it afforded Stiles any modesty.

 

“They’re red,” she said quietly in response to his question. “Like an Alpha.”

 

“That’s unexpected,” Stiles said, mind already whirling to understand it. It was better than thinking about Deucalion, miles better. “I. He didn’t turn me.”

 

“You’re magic though,” Allison pointed out, checking him over for injuries. Stiles ignored her. The only injuries he had were ones she couldn’t see, and the adrenaline still pumping through his system kept him from feeling them.

 

“So I what, absorbed his Alphaness through my spar- Derek!” Stiles stumbled to his feet, tripping over himself as he headed for his mate’s arms.

 

“If you _ever_ do this again-“ Derek started, wrapping himself around Stiles desperately, crushing him to his chest.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles said, even though he didn’t know what he was apologizing for. The fight, the kidnapping, the fear Derek must have felt for him-

 

He knew that the fear wasn’t real, that it wasn’t out of love but out of the biological obligation that came with being his mate but-

 

Stiles still let Derek carry him out to Dean’s car, let him hold him close and wrap him in his jacket and rock him back and forth, took guilty pleasure from the way Derek tried to rub the smell of Deucalion from his skin. He was shivering, he knew that, that he was crashing from the adrenaline and any minute now he might start to cry.

 

He let Derek hold him, let himself feel safe enough to fall apart.

 

-

 

It was probably wrong to mark Stiles like this without his permission, while he was in such a vulnerable state.

 

And it wasn’t that Derek couldn’t bring himself to care, he cared a lot, but he didn’t care enough to _stop._

 

“Talk to me, Sam,” Dean said, picking up his phone the second it rang.

 

“They’re all dead,” Sam said, and Derek frowned. “The ploots. There’s gotta be forty of them.”

 

Dean sighed. “This is why we should always watch the news.”

 

“What are they saying?” Stiles murmured, and Derek gently shushed him. He was hit with a fresh wave of worry when Stiles actually shut up and just huddled closer into Derek’s body.

 

“I’m about to call in the tip. We’ve got Deucalion and we’re gonna dispose of the body,” Dean said. “Usual drill?”

 

“Behead, burn, and bury the ashes at least half a mile apart,” Sam confirmed.

 

“They’re getting rid of the body,” Derek murmured. Stiles nodded.

 

-

 

Stiles felt like he was on what he imagined a bad trip felt like, sort of similar to when he’s sleep deprived, wired on caffeine, and hyped up on adderal. He could feel colors in the back of his throat, see sounds, taste other people’s emotions.

 

He must be going insane, because according to the new senses Derek wanted to wrap himself around Stiles and never let him go – follow him to the bathroom kind of never, Dean and Cas kind of never. But going insane or not, it makes him feel safe, makes him feel wanted.

 

So he lets himself drift off into a shocked haze plastered to Derek’s side, muttering an fake excuse about being tired. He doesn’t think Derek notices, his heart is going too fast for anyone to pick out the slight blip from the lie. He’s so far from tired, he feels like he’ll never sleep again.

 

He wraps the jacket around himself tighter, and breathes in the smell of Derek, thinks he can smell _them_ , mixed together. He knows what he smells like, couldn’t define it, but it’s the most familiar thing in the world to his nose. Stiles can’t describe what Derek smells like either, but it’s perfect, almost as perfect as the scent of _DerekandStiles_ is.

After an eternity they reached the pack house. Derek didn’t seem to want to leave the car because he’d have to stop being pressed up against Stiles to get out properly. He ended up doing some kind of shuffle thing where he was only away from Stiles’ side for a split second before hauling him out and nuzzling back into his neck.

 

Derek tried to pick up Stiles and bridal carry him, and Stiles politely refused by slapping his hands away. Stiles finally consented to a piggyback ride, doing his level best to ignore the way his dick rubbed up against Derek’s back through the silk of the panties and the thin cotton of Derek’s henley. Derek took Stiles up to his room without even asking if Stiles wanted to go to _his_ room (he really didn’t, a shower and then a bath was really important to him right now).

 

“I just –“ he couldn’t say he wanted to be alone, he didn’t, and his heart had calmed just enough that as intently as Derek was listening he’d know the lie. “Clothes. I just want clothes.”

 

Stiles started for Derek’s dresser, tripping and having to catch himself on the wall when Derek started stripping.

 

Derek nonchalantly stripping was nothing new and something Stiles suspected (and hoped) would never stop. It still hit him pretty hard, punching out a groan from deep in his gut that he just barely managed to cut off. Derek handed him his shirt and jeans expectantly, and Stiles immediately used them to cover his crotch. He was fairly certain that little Stiles was taking a healthy interest in the proceedings and he knew that Derek would probably be able to smell it soon – he had none of the defensive layers he usually had on to block as much of the scent as he could.

 

“Bath now,” he squeaked, edging his way towards the bathroom before turning and awkwardly jogging towards it, still pressing the clothes against his crotch.

 

As he turned, he could swear he heard Derek say _mate claim mine._ He hadn’t seen Derek’s lips move though, and he was actually starting to get kind of worried about this hallucinating thing. If it didn’t stop within the next few days he would definitely probably very likely never mention it.

 

Him and little Stiles needed to have a serious talk about when it was appropriate to get a boner over Derek’s hotness. Never, ideally, but at the very least not less than two feet away from the man wearing lingerie that hides next to nothing. He headed into the bathroom and turned to close the door, listening to Derek’s footsteps as he followed him inside.

 

Derek might have actually followed him into the bath, face more than a little determined, but Stiles took him by the shoulders and firmly turned him to face the wall.

 

“Don’t turn around under _any_ circumstances,” He instructed his Alpha, taking off the jacket and dropping it on the floor. “Unless I’m dying.”

 

“You just said under no circumstances,” Derek said dryly.

 

Stiles groaned, slid the panties off his legs and threw them at Derek’s head. He grinned in smug satisfaction when they hit and fell down over Derek’s face.

 

There was a low thrum of _mate claim mine_ that got louder, picking at the edge of his hearing, and he realized he’d been hearing it since before he went in the bathroom. It had just been too quiet for him to notice. Now it was too loud for him to ignore.

 

He stood there for a moment, shuddering with the force of it and wishing that it was real, before he stripped off the corset top and plugging up the tub. He started it, sticking a hand under to test the temperature. Stiles shivered in the cold air, goose bumps appearing, but it felt _good._ He focused on it until he could just barely sense what Derek was(n’t) feeling. The hot water helped too as it slowly rose on his body, relaxing him until he was slouched down with his legs stretched out.

 

The shower curtain crinkled and Stiles eeped, peeked out to see Derek pressed against the side of the tub and still staring at the wall.

 

 _God, he’s ridiculous._ Stiles thought, shaking his head, heart filling with something quiet and fond. _You’d think I’d been kidnapped and almost died or something._

-

 

When Stiles worked up the willpower to leave the bath, he was floaty and relaxed and ready to just flop down in a bed and rest forever. He wasn’t tired enough to sleep, he just wanted to close his eyes in the dark and quiet and relax.

 

“Hand me clothes?” he asked quietly and the shower curtain parted a little for Derek to hand the henley and jeans over.

 

He pulled them on quickly, everything a little too big on him, made to fit someone thick with muscle and not lean with it. As soon as he stepped out of the tub Derek herded him into the bedroom and onto the bed. When they’re both tucked under the blankets to Derek’s satisfaction, Derek practically covered Stiles with himself, smushing him into the bed.

 

There was nothing sexual about it, nothing sexual about the way Derek’s body shook and the back of Stiles’ neck was wet with what were most likely tears. Stiles let himself cry a little too, threaded his fingers together with Derek’s and pressed their joined hands to his lips, tried to muffle his sobs.

 

He shuffled his way out from under Derek, even though Derek let out a little sad growl of protest, and flipped over to rub his face against Derek’s neck and cheeks. It smeared tears and water and a little bit of snot all over Derek’s skin and was sort of disgusting, but the blatant scent marking calmed them both down. Eventually there were only little watery hiccups from either of them.

 

Stiles realized he was humming Fire and Rain and almost stopped. It was what his mom would sing to him whenever he was upset or sick or hurt or woken up from a nightmare. He tried not to think too hard about what it meant that he was doing that.

 

Derek pulled away from where he was nuzzled into Stiles’ neck, just enough to rest his forehead against Stiles’. There was something painfully intimate about it, being this close to him, and Stiles closed his eyes because he wanted so bad that it _hurt,_ that he was drowning in it, a deep longing that he wasn’t even sure was entirely his. He was pretty sure that this wasn’t the right time to kiss Derek (and it’s never the right time, he’s not sure the right time even exists) but he barely cares anymore.

 

“Please don’t hurt me for this,” he whispered, opening his eyes and reaching a hand up to cup Derek’s face, thumb stroking the curve of his cheekbone.

 

He nudged his face forward just the tiniest bit and kissed Derek.

 

Derek whimpered, something so foreign to his understanding of the Alpha that Stiles wasn’t even sure he heard it, kissed Stiles back like he was drowning too. Stiles wanted to be closer, _needed_ to be closer, as close as physically possible. He wanted to crawl out of his skin and into Derek’s, wanted to never be away from him again, thinks it would kill him if they stopped now.

 

Derek flipped onto his back but took Stiles with him, and Stiles was straddling him, bent over him with his elbows on either side of Derek’s head supporting his weight. Derek slid his hands under Stiles’ shirt desperately, taking comfort from his skin and leaving lines of fire where he touched.

 

Stiles pulled away before it could get too heated, sank into the hands touching his sides and back.He just needed to be close, preferably not in the sexy way – which was something he never thought he’d think when making out with goddamn Derek Hale.

 

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he confessed, so quietly he barely heard it.

 

Derek let out a little sob of something that sounded like relief, but Stiles pulled back just to check. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision of what was clearly a hallucination, because Derek was staring at him like he was the best thing to ever happen to him.

 

“I couldn’t, I’m, you’re my-“ Derek choked on the word, like it was hurting him to get it out, but the hope inside Stiles’ chest was probably hurting worse. Because he’d wanted things badly before, but barring his mother coming back he can’t think of anything he’s wanted more. So he waited, his chest constricted with that terrible, awful hope.

 

“And I was so _scared._ I can’t lose you too, Stiles,” Derek said, and his eyes began to water up with tears again. “I can’t, you’re my mate, I _can’t.”_

“Just to be clear,” Stiles said, breath catching in his throat. “That’s a good thing you… you want me, you’re not just forced to want me because of mystical mate-“

 

Derek grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck, surged up and kissed him like they were dying. Stiles was lightheaded from lack of air when he finally broke away.

 

“I’ve always wanted you,” Derek said fiercely.

 

Stiles let out his own sob of relief, pressed kisses to every piece of Derek’s skin he could reach. “I hoped,” he whispered. “I’d hoped.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr at [this gorgeous blog ;)](ang3lba3.tumblr.com)


End file.
